So lost
by ohclementine
Summary: "...placing a soft kiss on his lips. They still taste like the sea, slightly salty and refreshing, even though it's been weeks since he came back." Set after DitP. Guess who's back? Sully's back! But don't worry, I'm a true B&B shipper. REWRITTEN.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Even though I ship B&B hard as hell, I think gorgeous Brennan deserves a little bit of happiness until Booth comes to his senses. And who's better for that task that Sully? But why is he back after four years? How will his return affect B&B? Oh my, so many questions. First, a scene from the present tense, and the rest of the chapter is kind of a flashback. Let me know if it works for you! :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones. If I did, well... I'd do what every other fan would: put B&B together already!

–&–

The irritating sound of her cell phone buzzing against the nightstand wakes her up almost immediately. Still sleepy, she buries her face in the pillow and reaches for it with her left hand, pressing the green button on its way to her ear without even taking a look at the screen first.

"Brennan," she answers, the word muffled against the pillow and too tired to try to hide her exhaustion.

"Dr. Brennan!"

If she wasn't fully awake before, now she certainly is. Cam's cheery voice on the other side of the line can only mean one thing. Work.

"Thank God you answered," the pathologist exclaims. "I know it's early and I'm really sorry but there's a–"

She unburies her face from the pillow and props herself on the bed with her elbows. "Body?" she cuts Cam off, quite sure she's completing the sentence.

"Yes, exactly. Being sent to the Jeffersonian as we speak."

"Why is the body already on its way there?" Brennan wants to know, clearly annoyed. "I haven't been to the crime scene yet. If this is a federal crime–which it probably is or they wouldn't have called you–and the FBI was in charge of the body I can assure you based on past experiences that they've compromised evidence."

"Um, Mr. Bray has already been to the crime scene," Cam says carefully. "You were not answering and apparently they needed someone fast so I sent him."

She frowns, incredulous. "What? When did you call?"

"A while ago. We even tried your home number but–"

"I'm not–," she rubs her temples, "I'm not home right now," Brennan explains, barely realizing that, if it weren't for the fact that she's trying to excuse herself, she wouldn't be revealing as much information.

"Oh..." Cam begins, perplexed because of the sudden revelation. However, she's able to quickly pull herself together. "No need to apologize, Dr. Brennan," she continues. "The reason I'm calling is because Mr. Bray mentioned something about the skull they found at the crime scene and I believe he could use your help on this one."

She rolls to the edge of the bed and wraps herself in the sheets. "What is it?" she wants to know, raking a hand through her hair. "Some kind of anomaly he's not able to recognize?"

"It's... um, it's broken."

"Well, considering that the murders we work with are usually extremely violent, I wouldn't be so surprised if I were Mr. Bray."

Cam suppresses a soft laugh. "No, Dr. Brennan, it's broken in pieces. Thousand pieces."

"That's highly unlikely," she says, frowning. "Have you counted them yet?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan. There are precisely thousand pieces, all skull bones from the same skull according to Mr. Bray and some of them very small. They were found on a plastic bag lying on the seat next to the body, which was found on a car." She makes brief a pause, still unable to believe that what she's going to say next is true. "And the car was half hanging from a bridge."

"I'm on my way," Brennan says simply and hangs up right away.

A yawn escapes her lips as she stands up from the bed and grabs the white shirt that's lying next to her on the floor. She slides it on before swinging the door of the bedroom open and being absorbed by the smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen. Her lips curl into a smile and she walks without rush through the hallway, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, good morning, stranger," he greets her as he hears her stop behind him. He whirls around to face her and offers her a cup of what he calls her 'savior'.

She grabs the cup from his hands and takes a sip of steaming coffee. "Thank you. How did you know I was up?"

"I heard you talking on the phone," he shrugs and kisses her quickly on the lips.

He's in nothing but boxers–not that she complains–and they both looks at each other with a grin on their faces before she starts heading to the table. The warmth of her drink is nothing compared to the warmth she feels when he wraps his arms around her waist, forcing her to stop.

He buries his face on the curve of her neck, on her hair; inhaling her essence. "I see you found the rest of my clothing," he teases her.

"It was lying on the floor," Brennan states matter-of-factly and takes another sip.

Trailing kisses down her shoulder, he murmurs, "Perhaps that's where it belongs."

She puts the cup down on the sink before turning around in his arms and placing a soft kiss on his lips. They still taste like the sea, slightly salty and refreshing, even though it's been weeks since he came back.

She smiles against his lips. "I have to go."

"No, not really," he fights her, brushing off the bangs from her ice blue eyes with one hand. "You don't have to do anything. Stay."

"We have a case, and I have to go home and change before I go to the lab," Brennan explains, loosening herself from his grip and reaching for her cup.

The rest of her coffee is gone within a few seconds, and she's soon on her way back to the bedroom.

"Sure," he says more to himself than her since she's already out of his sight. He knows her well enough to know that work always comes first. "You want something to eat to take with you?" he wonders, raising his voice so that she can hear him.

She shakes her head, even though he can't see her. "That won't be necessary."

Brennan changes from his shirt to her clothes as fast as she can and reclaims her earrings from the nightstand. She then slides into her heels and walks out of the bedroom and toward the front door, putting the things she doesn't need into the purse before closing it. His footsteps and the sound of his body leaning against the wall take her back from her thoughts to reality but she remains silent.

"Is Booth picking you up?" he asks casually, though his arms cross as he pronounces the agent's name.

"No, why would he?"

She's too focused on getting ready to even look up at him and also completely oblivious of the fact that her question has many, many answers.

"Will I see you tonight?" He rather change the subject and ignore her question than actually _answer_ to it and force her to open her eyes. "I have a friendly match with the guys, but you know, after?"

"Actually, I have plans with Angela," Brennan tells him, finally meeting his glance but too late to catch the disappointment that crosses his face for a second before she looks up. "But I'll call you," she adds with a smile.

A nod from his side is all the answer she needs and with her jacket already on and the smile still on her lips, she opens the door and leaves his apartment.

* * *

_It had all started a couple of weeks ago, five days or so after the Eames case and her confession to Booth._

_She felt sad._

_It didn't feel good at all, but she felt sad and...alive. So she adjusted the best she could as she tried to go back to normal without losing the one thing she'd gained that night: a lesson about taking chances._

_Only problem was – she was terrified of losing Booth. So, so afraid she couldn't even think about that scenario without feeling that an invisible hand was clenching around her hand. He was, after all and along with Angela, her best friend. He knew her better than anyone, and their partnership meant the world to her._

_"But that's so not gonna happen, sweetie," the artist assured her almost a week after that evening. "Okay, so we all know _he's in love_," the disdainful way in which she uttered those two last words turned Brennan's stomach upside-down and caused her to smile despite the fact that she knew better, "but you're... you. I mean, it's been six years – seven, even, if you think about the first case the two of you had together, and...it's too much to forget. You can't possible move on from something like that."_

_They were sitting on the couch in Brennan's office, both of them enjoying hot morning coffee that Angela had taken with her before starting the interrogation. Angela had been trying to find out what had happened that rainy night for God knows how long now, so when Brennan finally gave up with a sigh and sat down, she knew it was important._

_All of her senses focused on the story she was hearing, and when her friend fell silent, she couldn't help but hug her tightly and just tell her how proud of her she was. And then, for the first time in a long time, Brennan admitted she was scared. Scared of losing him completely, of destroying what was left of their friendship. Angela stared at her friend as she spoke, and right after she assured her that that just couldn't possible happen, they heard someone storming into the office._

_"Bones. Hey, Bones, where are you?" Booth called her as he walked in. "We have a case."_

_Both women stared at him, surprised by his timing. He swallowed with difficulty as his eyes met hers._

_"What?" he asked, walking toward the couch and taking the cup from Brennan's hands. Their fingers brushing for a fraction and she shivered in spite of herself. "They're waiting for us. Get your coat and let's vamos. C'mon, chop chop!" Booth hurried her as he clapped his hands._

_"I'll... go ask Jack something," Angela said as she stood up and looked down at her friend. "You, me and drinks tonight. Well, you and drinks and me sitting right next to you drinking water. But you get the idea, right?"_

_Brennan smiled. "Right."_

_As the artist exited the office–not forgetting to raise an eyebrow at Booth and giving him a look–, Brennan silently wondered what she'd done to deserve a friend like Angela._

_"So?" Booth rubbed the back of his neck. "You coming? You know those bodies get all smelly and nasty after a while, so we better, y'know," he motioned leaving the office, "get going."_

_And there it was. The charm smile. The one he always, always used when he wanted to achieve something. She shook her head, grabbed her coat and followed him out of the lab._

* * *

_Painfully silent. That's what the car ride was. Their conversation had gone cold soon after they had left the Jeffersonian and neither of them had put any real effort on keeping it alive; Brennan because she felt that perhaps it was better for him that way and Booth because he was feeling too damn troubled to even try. But he had to. He had to try._

_For the seventh or so time since silence had taken over, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye and sucked in a breath. "So, um, it's been a," his chest clenched, "it's been a while."_

_"Yes," she said simply, trying to forget the fact that they'd only talked once after their conversation in the SUV and that the only reason they'd exchanged words was because of some reports the Hoover needed her to send._

_His gaze flickered between her and the road and his grip on the steering wheel tightened considerably._

_"Listen, Bones, about that night...you know, the doctor's case..." Booth trailed off._

_Brennan's eyes traveled from the landscape to him. "What about it?" she asked with genuine curiosity. She really didn't feel they had anything more to talk about, not when it came to that night. It was her problem, after all._

_"Are we...are we good?" he asked, and even she could hear he was troubled._

_"Yes, of course," she told him sincerely._

_Booth let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Okay. Great, because...y'know, it was a tough case and we both said things that..." 'That we really didn't mean', he meant to say, but knew it was a lie. At least when it came to her, she obviously meant all of it. "And then I..." He fixed his eyes on the road, unable to meet hers. "I'm so sorry for just leaving you like that, Bones."_

_And he was. The guilt had been eating him up for days now. In fact, he hadn't been able to stop playing their conversation in his head. Her words, the tears. His answer. Everything was clear and sharp in his mind, so when they've called him and said they've found a body, he'd jumped to his feet and gotten to the Jeffersonian in record time, happy to have an excuse to see her, to make sure she was okay._

_"Booth..." She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I've adjusted," Brennan said with a smile, one that caused something inside of both her and him to shatter._

_Questions like 'really?' and 'so soon?' were the first ones to fight their way to his lips, but he swallowed them all back. He had no right to be hurt. He'd made his choice, and she...she had all the right to adjust and move on just like he'd done._

_Once again, his hands clenched around the wheel. "Yeah?" he murmured, hoping that she wouldn't pick up in the hurt that ran throughout his voice._

_A vague "yes" from her lips put end to the conversation and he drove in silence for the rest of the way._

* * *

_"The case is awful. I mean, did you see the body?" Angela asked before taking a sip from her mineral water. "It's a rhetorical question, sweetie, I know you did," she added as soon as she saw Brennan lips parting along with the serious of-course-I'm-a-forensic-anthropologist-and-work-with-the-case look on her face._

_"Oh," Brennan said with a nod. "What I find extremely disturbing is the amount of time that is taking us to find the murder weapon."_

_"Sweetie," the artist chuckled. "It's been, like, eight hours since they found the body."_

_She gave her friend a look. "Yes, and if you hadn't practically abducted me from the Jeffersonian I would probably have made progress by now. We need the murder weapon to get a conviction."_

_"Trust me, you need this more." Angela nodded toward her friend's glass of wine, the third since they'd gotten to the Founding Fathers. "Plus, Wendell seemed to need a free night too, even if his plans were to go home and sleep until the end of the world."_

_"Speaking of which, shouldn't you go home to Hodgins? It's getting late and he's probably wondering where you are."_

_"He knows I'm with you, Bren." She finished her water in one large sip and took a look at her watch. "But you're probably right. Want to share a cab?" she asked as she slid down from the seat._

_Eyes fixed on her half full glass of wine, she said, "I think I'll stay a little bit longer."_

_"You sure? I can stay with you if you want."_

_"No, no. Go home. I'll finish this and leave," Brennan said holding her glass up. "_Go_, Ange," she insisted when the artist didn't move._

_She let out a sigh and hugged her friend. "Okay, okay, no need to get cranky. Love your guts, sweetie. See you tomorrow."_

_And then, she was out of the door._

_But Brennan didn't leave after finishing her third glass, or the fourth, or the fifth. She just sat there by the bar, staring at the dark red liquid, enjoying its savour every now and then. Forgetting about time. She was in that state, immerse in her thoughts, when she heard his voice from behind._

_"So, tell me, how much do you regret it?"_

_She turned around as she recognized his voice, her eyes wide in surprise._

_Smiling tiredly, he sat next to her. "On a scale from one to ten, I mean."_

_"What are you–what are you doing here?" Brennan managed, still in shock. He was definitely not someone she was expecting to meet that night. Or anytime._

_"I'm ordering a drink," he said as he waved to the bartender. "What about you? Care to join me?"_

_At her nod, the bartender poured scotch into two small glasses and slid them toward them. His disappeared after one sip, but Brennan didn't touch hers._

_"When did you get back?"_

_"Today."_

_"I thought your plan was to come back after a year, not four," she told him with a much sharper tone than she'd originally intended._

_"Well, things change. Life happens. You know, the usual," he shrugged. "What about you?"_

_She frowned and repeated, "What about me?"_

_"I mean, what's your excuse..." he leaned in, almost closing the gap between them as he gestured to the people around them, "...to be here, surrounded by losers?"_

_"What makes you think I'm better than them?" she scoffed._

_Proof that she'd had just a little bit too much to drink – her confidence was sinking like the Titanic._

_He give her a condescending look. "Temperance."_

_"Tim," she replied._

_"Ouch," he feigned hurt. "That doesn't sound right coming from you."_

_Not feeling in the mood for bickering, she gave up. "Sully, then."_

_He shook his head and watched her take her shot, still amazed at the way she could handle her liquor._

_"Wanna get out of here?" Sully asked with a smile, one that had never failed to make her feel all warm inside._

_She'd missed that after he left. Sure, she'd missed him too, but the ache had faded away after some time, making her realize that she had, in fact, made the right decision by staying. But that smile combined with the way he used to look at her, it made her feel like she was important. Like somebody cared._

_Tilting her head, she looked him in the eyes. They were full of hurt and confusion, but then again, he probably saw those two things in hers too. _

_"Sure," she said pushing the empty glass away_

_They left some bills on the counter and walked out of the bar and into the cold night in silence, his hands on his pockets and her eyes on the floor._

_"You haven't changed, you know?"_

_It was more of a statement than a question and it came out of nowhere._

_"Everything changes," she stated as well, looking up to him._

_He smiled. "Not everything. Here we are, four years later, and you still manage to take my breath away."_

_"Sully..." she trailed off._

_Brennan wasn't sure of what to say, but she was at least sure of the fact that more relationship problems was the last thing she needed at the moment._

_"What?" he asked with a grin. "It's the truth."_

_She shook her head and they continued to walk down the street in silence. It was cold, almost unbearable cold, but neither of them felt it because of the scotch still burning inside of them._

_It felt good, walking with him late in the night. Well, it felt better than just taking a cab alone. Plus, he knew her in a way that nobody else did, not even Booth or Angela, and even if they hadn't spoke in years, he had still managed to get her to leave the bar with him, just so she would get some sleep and...be safe. Neither of them spoke until they got to her apartment. Once there, her key turned in the lock and unlocked the door with a noise that cut through the night. Before she opened it and went inside, Brennan turned around and found him standing right behind her, just a few inches of space between them._

_Eyes wide, she drew in a sharp breath and her lips parted to ask a question to which she already knew the answer._

_"Do you want to come in?"_

_He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in, brushing his lips against hers and finally placing a kiss on them, a kiss that started to grow deeper and stronger the second she began reciprocating it. Without parting apart, they entered the apartment, somehow managing to close the door behind them and stumbling their way to the bedroom._

_Just like that, she was lost. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **First of all, I want to thank you all for the reviews and story alerts. They make my heart giggle! Second, I really hope you like this chapter. There's a bit more of B&B interaction, and some Flashback-Sully too. I'll be posting the next chapter very soon, probably tomorrow. It's quite late so if there's any spelling mistakes, don't be afraid to tell me so I can fix them. Enjoy and review letting me know what you think please :)

–&–

"Fill me in," Brennan demands, putting her hair on a messy ponytail as she steps on to the platform.

Wendell hurries over to her and hands her the x-rays. "Female in her mid-twenties. Pelvis indicates she's never given birth. I haven't found cause of death yet but this injuries," he points at the bones that were once called for wrists, "suggest that she was firmly tied to something during a long period of time. Probably hand-cuffed to the car door," he nods toward the evidence bag, "since they found some hand-cuffs with dried blood under the passenger seat."

"Good job, Mr. Bray," she says sincerely and smiling at him, which causes his face to light up. She puts on a pair of white gloves and looks around the platform. "Now, where's the skull?"

"Waiting for you right here," Cam answers.

She whirls to face her boss and sees her holding a slightly transparent white box full with small pieces of skull bones.

"I better start working with that," Brennan says taking the box from Cam. "Mr. Bray, I'll let you know if I need your assistance. For now, keep on with the current examination of the rest of the skeleton."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan."

She steps down from the platform with Cam by her side as she asks questions about the crime scene and requests the reports they have so far. The pathologist promises she'll make sure Brennan gets them as soon as possible before turning to the right and disappearing into her office.

"Brennan," she hears as she passes Angela's office.

She tries to walk faster, hoping the artist will take the hint, though she knows that's even more unlikely than a skull being broken to thousand exact pieces.

"Oh, no, no. Don't you _dare_ run away from me." Angela warns as she manages to catch up with her friend and both enter the anthropologist's office.

Brennan puts down the box on her desk as she sits down and turns on her laptop. "For a pregnant woman, you walk quite fast," she comments half matter-of-factly and half-joking.

"Yeah, make fun of the woman big as a house, knock yourself out. Very funny, Bren," Angela says bitterly, sitting down on the chair by the other side of the desk. The anthropologist raises an eyebrow at her friend's comment, which doesn't go unnoticed. Angela gives her an apologetic look. "Sorry, sweetie. The hormones, you know."

"No problem," she shrugs with a smile.

If she's to be honest with herself, she's enjoying her friend's pregnancy more than she had expected. Not only is she amused by her emotional roller-coaster, but she's also growing to care about the unborn child Angela's carrying.

"Now, shoot," the artist demands. "Where were you? Why didn't you answer? I left you like _thousand_ messages, and so did Cam, _and_ Jack."

Brennan bits her lower lip, ready to assume the consequences for telling her best friend what she's about to and also for not having told her before.

"Sully," she breathes.

"No, I said _Jack_. Sweetie, are you deaf?" Angela scoffs. "Where did you get _Sully_ from?"

In spite of herself, she feels her cheek blushing. "No, Ange...what I meant is, I was with Sully."

Angela's eyes go wide. Wide. Wide_r_. Both her hands fly to her mouth as she swallows a gasp and straightens herself in the seat. That can't be true. It's impossible. Sully sailed away _years_ ago and nobody has heard from him since. Not even her best friend. Or has she? At last, she finds a way to word her thoughts.

"How? I mean, when? I mean, where? No, _scratch_ that." She sucks in a deep breath. "Focus, Angela. Okay, you," she points at Brennan, "save the dirty details for later. What's going on? Did you just had your romantic rendezvous with him yesterday or has this thing been going on for a while?"

Brennan raises her eyebrows. For the first time, she is the one that waits for someone–and not just _anyone_, but Angela–to figure things out in her head and catch up. As she does it, a big grin forms on the artist's lips.

"Oh," she says nodding. "Ohh," she repeats, taking it all in. "So _that's_ why you've been glowing lately!"

"Ange!" Brennan hisses.

"Oh c'mon, sweetie, you can't come and deny it _now_," Angela says without even attempting to hide her smile. "It was the night we went out for drinks, wasn't it?"

She shoots her friend an inquisitive, utterly surprised look. "How did you know?"

How do they all do it? Sweets, Angela, Booth... they have all this ability to just figure things out in a way she doesn't understand and probably never will.

"You were late to work the morning after. You know, the day you _overslept_," she mocks Brennan by making finger quotes, "which I thought was totally weird. I have to say though, I can't believe you didn't tell me before. What happened to the whole BFF thing?" she asks, feigning hurt.

"I'm telling you now, doesn't that count?" Brennan asks back with an innocent smile. "And also...it's nothing serious, Ange."

"Are you kidding me? This is _Sully_ we're talking about! You know, I-want-you-to-sail-off-with-me-into-the-sunset Sully. Nothing you do with _that_ guy doesn't lead you to Happily Ever After."

"Ange...really, it's not like that," she insists, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. "We're just... spending time together."

"And choosing to not leave the bedroom at all, right?" the artist scoffs. She leans in on the desk and props herself on it with her elbows. "How did he find you anyway?"

"How did _who_ find Bones?"

The severe voice comes from the door, and both women's head turn immediately to see Booth standing there, eyebrow raised and waiting for a proper answer.

_'Crap' _is the only thing Angela thinks in silence as she smiles nervously. He _really_ has to stop showing up like that. Neither of them is sure of how much Booth heard before letting them know about his presence, but Brennan knows for sure that she definitely doesn't want him to find out about Sully just yet.

"How did _who_ find you, Bones?" he insists to know, walking over to the desk. "Are you in trouble? Is someone following you? You want me to send a team to clean your apartment? 'Cause I can make the call right now," he tells them, grabbing his phone from his pocket and ready to push the buttons.

Brennan gives him a earnest look. "Nobody's following me, Booth. I'm _fine__,_" she says as her eyes flicker between him and Angela, who, by the look on her face, seems to be enjoying the situation way too much. Before he gets to say anything else, she adds, "What are you doing here?"

He holds up some folders. "You wanted the reports."

He's not fully convinced with Brennan's answer but decides to save his interrogation for later. After all, he knows Angela better than they think he does and the mischievous look she has on her face shows only up when she knows something other don't.

"I thought Cam was going to e-mail them," Brennan comments as she takes the reports from him and eyes them quickly. "You didn't have to come all the way here, Booth."

"But I wanted to," he shrugs. "Besides, I was on my way here anyway. Thought we could do lunch, you know, like the old days," Booth suggests flashing a smile and rubbing his hands.

She looks at him apologetically, wishing Angela would make at least an effort to hide her grin. "Booth, I'm...busy." She gestures toward the white box. "Shattered skull."

"Oh," he says, disappointment running through his voice. "Oh, okay. Right."

Slowly, Angela pushes herself off the chair.

"Yeah... I'm gonna leave now," she says. "All that talk about...lunch, you know. Food and smells," she looks at Brennan, raising her eyebrows. "Very bad for us the pregnant people. So I'm gonna..." she gestures to the door, "go. Yeah. See you later, Agent Studly," she tells Booth with a smile. Somehow, everything she's found out about Brennan is making her see him with different, more forgiving eyes. Before exiting the office, she turns to Brennan and winks at her. "Remember, sweetie – we're not done."

Jaw slightly open, he watches Angela leave and turns then to his partner. "What was all that about?"

"I don't know," Brennan half-lies, since she did understand _half_ of the things her friend talked about.

Booth nods his head, uncertain, suspicious. "So," he begins, letting his body collapse on her couch and flashing his striped, colorful socks as he rests her feet on the coffee table. "You're not gonna eat at all or are you gonna wait until I'm gone to go grab a bite?"

Her eyes dart to him. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean you've been avoiding me for the past two weeks, Bones," he sighs and straightens himself on the couch, silently thanking Angela for closing the door behind her. His chocolate eyes seek for her blue ones. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Booth," the scientist lies, slightly annoyed. He probably thinks she's avoiding him because of what happened after the Eame's case, and although he would've been right a few weeks ago, now there are other things to take into account. "Booth, I wasn't lying when I said I have a shattered skull to put together, and since I just got here, I'd like t–"

"Wait, _you just got here_?" he demands to know, raising from the couch. "It's past noon!"

And then, it hits them both.

"You weren't at the crime scene?" they ask each other at the exact same time.

His hands fly to his hips. "Where the hell were you?" Booth asks with his alpha-male tone of voice. "Is that what you and Angela were talking about before I came in?"

Brennan's eyes narrow and her nostrils contract. She's gone from annoyed to furious in a single fraction. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that I have to check in with you every five minutes," she snaps at him.

"Oh, oh, funny," he laughs bitterly. "You finally learned some sarcasm!" Booth snaps back, regretting it the second the words come out of his mouth.

Folders fall on the desk with a noise that cuts through the silence like a sword. His mouth goes dry and his throat clenches. God, he definitely needs to start controlling his temper. Brennan, on the other side, stands behind the desk motionless, a stinging sensation tugging at her heart.

"Bones, I... I'm sorry," he apologizes, palming the back of his neck.

Rapidly, she collects the folders once again and pretends to read through them. "I think you should go," she tells him without any emotion whatsoever running throughout her voice.

"C'mon, Bones. Don't be like that." He casts a hesitant look around the room. "Can't we just go grab a bite and...and talk things through?"

And then, it hits _her_. He's being even more insistent than usual, but it doesn't mean he knows about Sully because then he would have said something right away. Or he would've gotten angry that she didn't trust him with something like that.

No, if there's something she has learned during the past few years is to read Booth. She may not be good with people in general, but Booth she can read. Booth she's good with and it's all because of–and it metaphorically kills her to think about it–the things they've shared with each other. Nobody can take that away from her. There's something else going on, and as much as she's afraid of his answer and of being right, she goes with it.

"Where's Hannah?"

Her question catches him by surprise. "What?"

"Hannah," she repeats. "I thought you always had lunch together."

Which is true. Except when...

"Oh–Hannah. Yeah, she's..." He gulps. "She's out of town on some assignment. Journalist stuff, you know," Booth explains, slowly realizing what the whole situation possibly looks like to Brennan. Now

Eyes dropping back to the reports, she mutters, "Sure, I know."

There it is. Hannah's not around. He can't be with his girlfriend so he goes to her, the second best option. Rage starts to fill her body and she really, really wants to make it stop, but doesn't quite know how. The whole emotion thing is getting used to take the best out of her so she tries to think of facts. Fact number one: Booth is with Hannah, and they love each other. Fact number two: she had her chance with him and missed it. Fact number three: things have changed, because everything always changes... which for some reason makes her think of Sully–and what he'd said to her that night two weeks ago–before she even gets to fact number four. Suddenly, she's smiling, but then she looks up and sees Booth staring at her and the grin disappears from her face at the speed of light.

"I have to get back to work," Brennan says grabbing both the reports and the box with bones and walking out to the squint jungle.

"Fine!" he calls out as he follows her but stops by the door. "Fine, don't have lunch with me!"

* * *

_He trailed kisses down her arm, her back, her jaw line. The only light illuminating them was the one coming from the street. They basically saw nothing more than each other silhouettes. She was lying on her stomach, her arms under the pillow supporting her head and her legs trying to escape from the sheets._

_"What did you mean earlier with 'tell me how much you regret it'?" she asked after several minutes of silence._

_Sully turned to look at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You mean back at the bar?" She simply nodded. "Just thought it would be a good way to start the conversation."_

_"By asking me how much I regret not sailing off with you?" she asked feeling, for some reason, played. "Because I don't."_

_"I know you don't," he grinned. "And it's better that way"_

_She considered him, all of him, for a couple of seconds. He was practically the same man. Same strong hands and wide shoulders; same messy hair and goofy smile. But there was something in those eyes... his eyes weren't the same. They were darker now, and she bit her bottom lip wondering why._

_"What happened to you?" Brennan finally asked._

_Curiosity had always been the single constant in her life, the thing that helped her move forward, and no matter how much she changed, she was never going to give that up._

_He caressed her shoulder with his thumb. "Do you have any regrets?" he asked softly. "I mean, if you were to disappear from this world tomorrow, is there something you've said or done that you would like to take back?"_

_She thought about being rational and tell him that the probability of her 'just disappearing' the next day was not high at all, but then... then she remembered that incident five nights ago, when she had almost gotten hit by a car. If it hadn't been for Booth, she would have died._

_Disappeared._

_Gone._

_"Everybody has regrets," she said at last. "I'm no exception to that rule, Sully"._

_Those words flying through her lips, his arm wrapping around her waist and her head resting on his chest were the last things they heard and felt that night before drifting off._

* * *

"He's _back_?" Cam exclaims, almost jumping from the couch. "And they're... she's...oh my god."

"Shhh," the artist hushes her. "If Bren finds out that I told you, she's going to kill me. Or she's gonna wait for the baby to come to this chaotic world and _then_ kill me. Now, there's something I need to know. Have you talked to Booth lately about, um, relevant stuff?" she asks in hope that Cam knows about the rainy night and Brennan's confession.

Shoulders tensing, Cam hesitates. "Why–why do you want to know?"

"Because I need to–" It doesn't take long until the artist manages to read her bosses body language. "Wait, why are you nervous? Is there something you're not–"

_You weren't at the crime scene?_

Voices flying through the glass walls of Brennan's office make their way into every other spot in the lab. Cam isn't sure if the rest of the people at the Jeffersonian have stopped whatever they were doing to listen to the partners fight, but by the sudden silence that takes over the place, she bets they have. Both she and Angela wait one second, two seconds, three...

_Where the hell were you? Is that what you and Angela were talking about before I came in?_

The pathologist throws a glance at Angela as soon as she hears her name being pronounced by the agent. The artist nods her head, letting Cam know that Booth's suspicions are, in fact, correct. Suddenly, both are _really_ tempted to start doing something else instead of just eavesdropping what seems to be a very private conversation between the partners, and Angela, who usually is all about the spying, is about to open her mouth when–

_I'm sorry, I didn't realize that I have to check in with you every five minutes_

Followed by...

_Oh, oh, funny. You finally learned some sarcasm!_

Cam makes a face and Angela swallows a gasp. They've bickered before, sure. But this... This is new; worse. They wait a couple of seconds, secretly praying that the fight between the partners is over, and when they start hearing some activity outside of Angela's office, both let out a breath they didn't know they were holding**.**

The artist lets out a huff. "That was... nasty."

"Yep," Cam agrees with a nod.

"You think they've solved it? I mean, they're not yelling anymore."

Cam's eyes travel somewhere outside her office. "I wouldn't be so sure," she drags the words and waves Angela to her side.

"What?" she asks, doing as her boss indicates her.

And then she sees it. Brennan holding a white box on her way out of her own office and Booth following her hot on her heels.

_Fine! _He stops by the door. _Fine, don't have lunch with me!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So I know I said this chapter would be up like two days ago, but I really haven't had time to sit by the computer, so I'm posting it now instead and hoping you'll like it :) Once again, THANK YOU for the reviews and story alerts and all that, I giggle like a fangirl every time I get a mail from – true story. Anyway, here's the new chapter! We get some Angela/Brennan and Cam/Booth friendship along with the truth of Sully's return *insert oh em gee*

Enjoy and review, please! :)

–&–

The artist enters Limbo after letting Brennan work on the skull for several hours. She'd wanted to give her some space, but the clock kept ticking and the anthropologist hadn't showed any signs of heading home yet, so Angela had decided to step in.

"Sweetie, you alright?"

"Yes," Brennan answers absently, her eyes fixed on the few small bones she has yet to put together with the skull. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Angela gives her friend a look. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because of that huge fight you and Booth had?"

She purses her lips. "I'm perfectly fine, Ange."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

Angela's soft and pleading voice nags at her and Brennan lifts her eyes to meet her friend's, mostly to prove that her lack of eye contact has nothing to do with the events the artist is mentioning. She fails miserably though, as Angela knows her well enough to catch the struggle in her face.

"Bren," she tries, walking toward her. "C'mon, sweetie, leave the skull. We'll grab something to eat and then we'll head to your place." Brennan opens her mouth to speak but Angela gets there faster. "Listen, I know you like to get all alpha-female on me when I try to take care of you, but would you please just let me have it tonight?" she begs, hyper aware that the only way of making a favor to her friend is if she believes it's for someone else.

Brennan blows out a heavy breath. "I have to finish the skull so that you can start working on the facial reconstruction. We won't catch the murderer without an ID. Hodgins hasn't found any particulates that can lead us to the killer and we haven't been able to estimate neither cause of death or the murder weapon."

"Please, Bren?" she begs, an overly-innocent smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "For the baby?"

She glares at her friend. "That's low," Brennan protests, but when she catches Angela staring at her with wide, pleading eyes, she lets out a sigh and tilts her head to the side. "Fine," she gives in with a smile.

Angela surely knows how to handle her, and even though she never says it out loud, she's secretly thankful for that.

* * *

She takes an ardent shot of liquor and makes a face as she puts the small glass down on the counter. The bar is full with loud people; some of them young, some of them old, but all equally noisy, and she knows that a particular gang of chattering twenties sitting near them is slowly getting on Booth's nerves, especially considering the day he'd just had. Sadly, the topic she's planning to bring up next isn't going to cool down his escalating fury at all. She blows out a sigh and turns to look at him.

"I warned you, big guy."

He glares at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You cracked that shell, Seeley," she tells him, going straight to the point. "You cracked it and you changed your mind."

His glass hits the table with a loud noise. "Don't go there. You don't know what happened. You don't have _any_ idea of what's going on, Camille," he replies angrily, hoping she will pick up his mood the second she hears her full name.

Unfortunately for him, she's not about to drop the subject.

"Maybe I don't know the details, Seel," she continues as he takes another shot, "but I know that, almost two years ago we were sitting right here at this bar while you were telling me you were in love with her." Her voice is soft and calm, a complete opposite to how he is feeling. "I told you to be sure, big boy, and you went and gambled with her." Booth opens his mouth to protest, but Cam holds up her hand to stop him. "I'm not done, Seeley. I'm not saying it's your fault, because you're both to blame. But from what you've told me, she never said she didn't feel the same for you."

"She said no, okay?" Booth groans. "And if that wasn't enough for me to get it, she moved to the other side of the planet." He rubs his face with his rough palms. "Listen, Cam, all that stuff – it's in the past. I'm with Hannah now. I love her."

Cam ignores his last words with a shake of her head and slides gracefully off her chair. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Dr. Brennan also said you thought you were protecting her when you were the one that needed protection."

It's not that she isn't happy for her friend, because she is, and she has absolutely nothing against Hannah – truth to be told, she liked her the second she saw how the blonde caused him to smile, and even more when she got to know her better. However, she just can't get rid of the feeling that something's wrong. If Booth's going to dive entirely into this, she needs him to be sure.

He looks up to her, confusion and impatience flashing across his eyes. "So? What does that have to do with anything?"

And why does everyone suddenly has an opinion about his and Brennan's relatio–no, partnership?

She leans in, supporting herself on the counter with her elbow. "Have you ever considered that maybe you were so hurt by what you thought was her rejection that you never really paid attention to the rest of the conversation?"

Booth laughs a forced, bitter laugh. "You know what, I really don't see the point in you telling me all this," he declares, emptying his glass one more time.

"Well, it makes sense to me, especially after what she told you during the Eame's case. I'm your friend, Seeley, so I'm going to ask you to trust me on this one. Next time you look back to what happened between you two, look back again," Cam says, and without even waiting for an answer, she kisses him on the cheek and exits the bar.

He watches her walk away from him and the annoying people around him, nearly cursing himself for trusting Cam with both the events by the Hoover and Brennan's words nearly three weeks ago. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to look back. What if he sees something now that he missed before? What if something sticks out, what if there really is more to Brennan's words than he thought there was?

It takes him two hours, four more beers and three tequila shots to make a decision. And when he grabs the cab, and the driver looks at him through the rearview mirror, his simply lips refuse to utter his own address.

* * *

_Sully was gone when she woke up the next morning. She wasn't surprised, not really, but there was still something about him that she couldn't figure out and that bothered her enormously. Some days passed, and during those days, Brennan continued to live her life as usual, letting work absorb her and rationalizing things as she always had. That's why, when Sully showed up at the doorframe to her office three nights later while she was sitting on the couch doing paperwork, it was both surprising and predictable at the same time._

_"You know, this place always gave me the creeps."_

_His voice echoed in the room as he stepped into Brennan's office, enjoying the look on her face when her eyes snapped from the reports to him._

_He chuckled and took a look around. "I guess I'm not that into the murder stuff after all."_

"_How did you get in?" she wanted to know, suddenly doubting the security system at her workplace._

_"The night guard let me in when I told him I was here to take you home," Sully said, taking a sit next to her on the couch. "He's very fond of you, y'know. Told me to make sure you get a good night sleep."_

_She frowned. "That was quite irresponsible of him. Even though the possibility is remote, there's still a chance of you lying about your identity to get through security with the purpo–"_

_"Why bother lying when you have a badge to flash?" he cut her off, smiling._

_"Are you back at the FBI?" Brennan gasped._

_"Yeah," he said with a nod, the smile fading away. "But it's gonna be a couple of weeks until I can start working again. I think that's Cullen's small revenge against me for being gone so long," he added rubbing the back of his neck._

_"At least you get to come back," she smiled. "Why are you really here, Sully?"_

_He grinned. "I told you, I'm here to take you home. I bet you haven't even eaten yet. You know, that place we used to go to is still open. Saw it on my way here."_

_"Sully..." she said with a thread of mild threaten in her voice._

_He didn't answer, but switched sits from her couch to the coffee table across it._

_"I know you've got questions," Sully said with a serious expression that turned into a grin after few seconds. "You always have questions."_

_"That's accurate," she agreed, feeling a wave of warmth wash over her as she realized the man in front of her knew her better than she thought. "So you decided to come all the way here to answer them?"_

_"Yes," he said, titling his head. "And no"_

_Her eyes tried to read his expression without much success. "I don't understand. Yes or no?"_

_"There's a catch," he said, holding one finger in front of her. "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."_

_Brennan felt a tingling in her stomach since there were, in fact, a few things she wanted to know. "That seems fair", she agreed._

_"Glad you think so," he smiled, supporting himself on the knees with his hands and leaning in just a bit. "And since it was my idea, I'll go first."_

_She nodded. "Okay."_

_"My first question is...are you getting enough sleep?"_

_One of her eyebrows flew up. "Are those the only type of questions we're allowed to ask each other?"_

_"Just answer," he whined, feigning annoyance._

_"I don't see why it's important enough to be a question, but yes, I'm sleeping enough."_

_"See, I can tell you're lying but I'll let it pass if you promise to be honest from now on." He waved a hand toward her. "Your turn."_

_Brennan caught her lower lip between her teeth, wondering if it's was better to make her way to the toughest questions slowly–obviously not asking something similar to what Sully had just asked her, but still–or if she should just ask them directly. Finally, she settled for the first option._

_Her eyes traveled up to his. "How was the trip?"_

_"Mostly good. You know, exotic places and beautiful people," Sully chuckled. "You have any children?"_

_"No," she said, gulping the lump in her throat as she remembered the events of nearly two years ago, when she'd asked Booth to give her his 'stuff' as he had called it later on their way to the OR. Both the baby thing and Booth's life being on danger caused her to shiver, but she shook it off almost immediately and glanced at Sully again. "Do you?"_

_"Nope," he said simply. "Not that the thought hasn't occurred me, but no, no children. What's that scar on your arm?" he asked nodding toward her right arm. "I saw it the other night. You didn't have it before."_

_"Oh," she smiled as she figured it out. "Doctor that turned out to be a murderer," Brennan shrugged, trying to block out the memories of that intense case. "Did you meet anybody while you were away?"_

_Sully nodded his head a little. "Yes, a few persons actually. What about you, are you seeing someone?"_

_Her throat clenched against her will. "Not at the moment. Are you back for good?"_

_"Yes. At least that's the plan. Where's Booth?"_

_"Wha–why is that relevant?" she wanted to know, taken aback._

_"Nuh-huh," he waved a finger in her face. "You can't answer a question with another question."_

_Features relaxing, she gave up. "Fine. I don't know, but he's probably home considering how late it is." She thought her next question carefully before setting it free. "Why did you choose to leave?"_

_"I had to. You know I had to," he replied, smiling sadly. Somehow, Brennan choosing to stay still stung a little bit. "Y'know what? I forgot to tell you that we get one freebie each," he added. Brennan looked at him with an interrogation sign on her face, so he hurried to explain himself, "Whenever we want to, we get to ask three more questions that follow the original, and the other one has to answer them truthfully. But thing is, we just get do it once."_

_"That's ridiculous," she declared, slightly annoyed. "You can't change the rules in the middle of the game."_

_"Who said it was a game?" Sully laughed, leaning in a little bit. "Three questions. You wanna start?"_

_"Since you were the one that suggested the improvement on the interaction, I'd imagine you already have your questions in mind and therefore, you should start," she said simply._

_"Always a genius." His eyes sparkled. "So, where's Booth?"_

_Confusion flew across her face. "I told you, I don't know." _

_"You guys still partners?" he asked as soon as she had answered._

_"Yes."_

_"For how long now?"_

_"Six years."_

_"And when exactly did he break your heart?" was his last question, asked as fast as the last four sentences had been uttered._

_"Last week," Brennan replied without even thinking, and her eyes widened as she heard herself. "That's not..." She made a pause, her eyes almost analyzing his. "How did you–"_

_"Studies show that the best way of getting a truth out of someone is by asking questions really fast and increasing the tempo of the conversation, making sure to finish the interrogation with the main question, the one which answer is the one you look forward to the most," he explained with his most clinical tone of voice._

_She felt played and frustrated, a combination of things she did not like at all. "That isn't true," she stated._

_"You're right," he chuckled, "I just made that up."_

_There was a brief pause in which she, feeling uncomfortable, looked down at her paperwork and then at her feet, noticing their knees had been brushing since he went to sit across her. He remained in silence, not wanting to push her any further. Finally, she decided to break the ice._

_"Scientifically speaking, the heart can't break. Just get crushed," Brennan murmured, relying on facts to get through the moment._

_"I know," he nodded. "You want to use your freebie now?"_

_She felt grateful to move away from the topic of Booth. "I only have one question."_

_"Let's hear it," Sully dared her, hyper aware of the fact that she was going to go straight to the point._

_Just as he suspected, Brennan went with the question that had been bugging her since their re-encounter._

_"Why did you come back?"_

_His answer came so quick it nearly sounded rehearsed._

_"Because I'm responsible for the death of two boys."_

_The silence that took over the room was considerably longer that the one they had experienced a moment ago. Thoughts and different scenarios ran through Brennan's brain fast, fast, faster; and even though she parted her lips to speak a couple of times, words refused to come out._

_This just didn't happen to her, she was never speechless. Never. But this was Sully, confessing to something she never thought she would hear from him. He of all people... and that's exactly what forced her to come to her senses: this was Sully, of course there had to be an explanation. No matter the situation, person or subject, there was always a rational explanation supported by facts; facts that allowed her to understand those around her and the world she lived in._

_Her eyes were locked with his, refusing to look any other way._

_"What happened?" she asked at last._

_Sully sucked in a heavy, painful breath. "I was at the Dominican Republic," he began in a murmur. "Had been living there for a couple of months, and I'd gotten to know some people. One of them even got me a job at some restaurant near the harbor. Didn't get much money but enough to, you know, survive," Sully said, and looked at Brennan, searching for confirmation. She nodded her head slightly, all of her senses focused on him. "It was different. Refreshing." His right hand ran through his hair, and he hesitated before speaking again. "One night, I was closing the place when I heard some noises coming from the alley next to the restaurant and decided to find out what was going on, but I didn't see anything strange until I got to the end of the alley. There they were, those two kids – and I say kids because I promise that the tallest one wasn't older than thirteen. Kids." He lifted himself from the couch and turned his back on Brennan, his eyes squeezing shut. "And this–this guy...this man, was standing in front of them, pointing a gun at the youngest of them. It was impossible to understand what the man was saying from were I was, so I tried to get closer as quietly as I could, but I...I tripped over some garbage bags," he chuckled in irony and bitterness and turned to face Brennan again. "I tried to get on my feet as fast as possible, but when I looked up, the man was aiming his gun at me. He yelled something that I couldn't understand, so I just put my arms up and told him to leave the kids alone. Somehow, I managed to get closer to the guy whose arm was lowering, and just as I was about to take the gun from him, he struck me with the pistol. I flinched, and shut my eyes only for a second, just in reflex, you know?"_

_"Sully," she interrupted him, dreading the path the story was taking, but knowing deep down that he needed to finish it just as much as she wanted to hear it._

_"I heard the shots as I opened my eyes again and by the time I got to them, they were gone. I could have stopped it, but I didn't. Next thing I know, I'm back in DC. I flinched," Sully said, shivering. "I flinched, and if I hadn't, those kids would still be alive."_

_Now she understood the darkness in his eyes. She could see why he thought the death of those two boys lied on his shoulders, but something inside her disagreed stubbornly. It still surprised her how easy everything felt with him, and the fact that he had just trusted her with his guilt and regrets only made her care more about him._

_Flashbacks of their time together as an official couple flew through hear head, but in the end her mind bounced back to reality, and she saw him – fragile, vulnerable to the world; to her. Not knowing what else to do or how else to show him that she somehow understood his pain at least partly, she walked over to him, invading his personal space the second her lips touched his._

_Booth had said it himself years ago: we are all searching for the slightest hint of a real connection. Who said that two broken halves can't make a whole? It's simply math._

* * *

Is this her fault? Well, perhaps not _entirely_ since she had no way of knowing what was going to happen but still... was it right of her to push Brennan toward Booth during all those years? She simply can't help but feel guilty. All the times she assured her friend that she and her partner belonged together... she's haunted by her own words of reassurance that somehow, somewhere in the way, turned out to be a lie.

Water drops bouncing on the bathroom wall reach her ears through the apartment, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips when she thinks about how much Brennan has grown the past years. Angela's fingers curl up to the less creepy book she finds on the bookshelf, and she's on her way to the couch when a knock on the front door interrupts her thoughts. Not even wondering who can be standing on the other side of the door, she swings it open, but the person she sees across her is–for some reason–more shocked than she is when their eyes meet.

Lips pursing, Angela makes sure not to show any signs that she's going to let him in any time soon. "What are you doing here, Booth?" she asks him with a sharp tone.

Booth ignores her question and looks eagerly over her shoulder. "Is Bones home?"

"She's in the shower, which is why I won't feel bad for doing this," she says, stepping out of the apartment and shutting the door behind her, forcing Booth to take two or three steps back on the hallway. Her arms fold across her chest and she gives him one sharp nod. "You need to go."

"What? Why? No," he shakes his head stubbornly, "I need to talk to Bones."

Booth isn't sure if Angela notices it, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows the tequila is talking for him and that that probably isn't a very good idea. Sober Booth would never go against Angela's will, not on this matter at least.

"Are you and Hannah still together?" the artist wants to know once he manages to hold her gaze again.

His eyes narrow. "Yes," Booth replies sharply.

Why is that even important? He just wants to _talk_ to Brennan, is that so difficult to get?

"Then get the hell out of here, Booth," she orders him, fury soaring through her skin.

She recognizes the eager sparkle in his eyes, but she's most definitely not letting him do this with alcohol on his breath and a girlfriend, that even though not in town right now, he's still attached to.

He doesn't move.

"Come on, Booth. _Now_."

He blinks, not ready to give up. "Why?"

"Because," she begins, gesturing with her hands as she speaks, "this whole impulsivity thing you're doing right now is _not_ gonna end up well. Plus, I feel the tequila vapors all the way here. Go home, Booth. Go home before things get even more ruined."

"Let me just talk to her, Angela," he pleads, a hand raking through his hair, heat traveling up his throat. "I just need to talk to her."

She nods vaguely. "I know you do, but not like this, Booth." Her voice becomes softer and the anger evolves to sorrow. "Not like this. You owe at least that to her."

"Ange...please." His knees buckle ever so slightly and he lays a firm hand on the wall, next to Angela's head. "I just need to...If I could just..." he trails off.

"No, Booth," she exclaims, her patience getting shorter by the second. "You don't get it, do you? I won't let you make her trip now that she just got up from the floor. I won't... she's not..." Her eyes lock with his. "Leave, please. I won't tell her you were here, but just go, Booth."

His dark, dilated pupils hold the gaze for a couple of seconds before his body turns around and takes him down the stairs. Angela lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, opens the door slowly and makes her way back to her friend's apartment in silence, secretly wishing that the issues between the partners had more to do with unrequited feelings instead of terrible, terrible timing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **It's time for some boothy angst! Haha, just kidding... Well, almost. This chapter is pretty Booth loaded, and I'll appreciate it enormously if you let me know what you think – both about Booth's thoughts and the chapter in general, of course! As usual, I want to thank you all for your comments and story alerts! You have no idea how happy they make me. And last but not least, I left responses to last chapter's reviews right at the end. Look out for your name and enjoy the reading (:

**Disclaimer:** I solemnly swear that I don't own Bones or any of the characters.

–&–

All the chattering and noises coming from outside of his office are only causing his headache to grow stronger. Worse. One of the windows is open, and he's silently enjoying the fresh afternoon air that's hitting his body and finding its way to his lungs to clean them with each breath he takes.

Finding support on the surface of his own desk, he buries his face deep down between his arms. It's been two days, but he still can't manage to explain it to himself...what was he thinking, telling Brennan's address instead of his own to the taxi driver? Or going up the stairs of her building two steps at the time? Or, even worse, stubbornly begging Angela to let him in?

What is it with her, with Brennan, that he feels the _need_ to fix things between them? They're just partners. They could have been more than that, but they're not. And he has Hannah. Who loves him, and whom he loves. Yes, that's all there is to it. But then why, _why_ does something feel awfully wrong ever since her confession just over three weeks ago?

"Booth?"

His eyes dart to her, standing at the other side of his desk.

"Bones? What–what are you doing here?"

She leaves some reports on his desk and slides them toward him. "We have an ID." Of course, straight to the point. "And cause of death, so we only have murder weapon left. I'm sorry it's taking so long."

"Oh, well, that–that's great." He holds the reports up. "Thanks for dropping these off, Bones."

"No problem," she smiles. "Now, if you excuse me, I have to go back to the–"

He jumps from the chair as if it was radioactive. "Woah, woah, Bones!" he tries to stop her as his hand flies across the desk to grasp her arm.

The moment his hand connects with her skin, he knows it's still there. The spark. The electricity. The 'I can touch you and get away with it because we're partners'. Well, at least for him. As soon as she feels his warm hand on her and their eyes meet, Brennan manages to lose herself from his grip without a second thought.

"Yes?" she says, her voice cracking for a fraction but regaining its force almost immediately.

Booth says nothing.

"Is there something else?" she tries again.

Is this _it_? He can't even touch her anymore? Is their relationship, their friendship, so ruined that she won't allow that minimal form of contact between them? He can't believe it. He won't accept it. They're Booth and Brennan for God's sake.

He gulps, gathering courage. "Can we–listen, can we talk?"

Brennan blinks. "You mean _now_? About what?"

They both have work to do, and work always comes first.

"No, not now, of course," Booth tries to scoff once he sees how reluctant she is to the idea.

He gets the exact same ache on his chest that he felt after one of their first sessions with Sweets, the one when she'd said she wouldn't have coffee with him if there weren't any murders. Even though she'd said it out of a misunderstanding, he still remembers feeling like someone had kicked him in the guts, and now that feeling is back.

"Then when?" she wonders after he, once again, doesn't seem to be able to answer properly, though she's quite oblivious to why.

"I–I don't know." He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of the best possible scenario that's both soon and allows them a non-disturbed chat, which is why he can't talk to her over drinks. "I'll be in meetings pretty much all day tomorrow, but the day after that? We can do lunch?"

There's an awkward silence after he utters the last word, and both their minds travel to the previous day and their loud fight. She eyes fall down, considering the pros and cons of his offering. It's just lunch, they always had lunch before. But that was _before_, and things have changed. However, even though they are not the same persons they were a couple of months ago, this is still Booth. Good, admirable, honest Booth. He _is_ her partner, and they've been through so much during the years that she owes him to try to fix whatever it is that's broken in their partnership.

"Bones?" he calls her when her silence becomes too unbearable.

"Sure," Brennan says, looking up to him with a vague smile. "Lunch sounds good."

Features softening, he adds, "Great."

Maybe, if he does this right...there's still a couple of things he has to take care of, but maybe he can still mend bridges between them. Another moment of silence takes over the room, a moment that's interrupted by a knock on Booth's doorway.

"May I?" Hannah asks. She doesn't wait for an answer but lets herself in, breezes by Brennan and places a kiss on her boyfriend's lips.

"Hey, H-Hannah!" he stammers, trying to shake off the surprise he knows is flying across his face. His fingers loosen his all of a sudden suffocating tie. "Hey, you're here. I, um, thought you were coming back tomorrow morning."

She shrugs carefree with her shoulders. "Got off early," she explains and turns to look at her boyfriend's partner with a smile. "Hi, Temperance."

"Hello, Hannah. Was the trip okay?" Brennan wonders, feeling more comfortable in Hannah's presence than she thought she would after that rainy night.

"You could say that. Didn't get much to work with, but I'm not done with that senator if that's what he thinks," she replies as she tilts her head, suddenly sensing a strange vibe between the partners. "Is everything okay?"

His eyes, that had been unconsciously fixed on Brennan, snap to his girlfriend. "Yeah!" Booth hurries to say. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't it be?" God, so many answers to that question. "Bones just came by to, um, drop off some new info on the case."

"Actually, I was on my way back to the lab. Mr. Bray might need some help determining the murder weapon," Brennan says softly. "I'll let you know if we make any more progress, Booth. Have a nice day." She gives the couple a smile and leaves.

Hannah's fingers curl up to his tie. "So, dinner tonight?" she asks playfully.

"Huh?" he asks, watching Brennan as she walks out of his office and toward the elevator. He clears his throat to put some order on his thoughts. "Yeah, of course. Dinner sounds great."

There are _definitely_ some things he has to take care of.

* * *

_He kissed the top of her head and whispered the words against her hair, "You want to talk about it?"_

_Brennan let out a sigh and rolled over to her side of the bed, her body feeling suddenly cold as she put distance between herself and Sully. It wasn't that she wanted to shut him out, especially not since their conversation at her office a couple of hours ago, but what was there to say?_

"_He's my best friend," she confessed simply after a moment of silence. There wasn't really much more she could tell Sully about her situation with Booth–even _she _didn't know where they were standing at the moment–which was why, instead of developing her statement, she pulled herself out of the bed and headed to the kitchen as she threw on her dressing gown._

_The whole thing just bothered her so much, and she wanted so desperately to _know_. Know what to do, how to react, how to move on. Only problem was, she didn't have a clue of where to start searching for answers._

_She opened the kitchen shelf, grabbed one of the cups and made sure to press the button to start the brewing on the coffee pot before she went to sit down on the couch. Her legs crossed underneath her body–indian style as Angela called it–and her hand put down the, for now, empty cup on the table._

_Weak sunlight flying through the curtain-less windows of the living room told her it was dawn, and she sighed bitterly as she realized that was a time of the day she seemed to be spending awake more and more since she'd gotten back from the Maluku islands._

_Footsteps approached her and before she got the chance to look over her shoulder–even though she knew it was him–two strong arms had wrapped themselves from behind and around her shoulders, gently but firmly._

"_You'll have to say it eventually," he whispered in her left ear, tightening the grip as his lips uttered the short sentence._

_Brennan didn't understand if the reason she shivered was the weight of his words or the proximity of his body, but either way she couldn't help but lean her forehead against his cheek, her skin coming in contact with his five o'clock shadow._

_She let out yet another sigh. _"_I know."_

* * *

Cam steps on the platform of the lab and takes a curious look around.

"Where's Dr. Brennan?"

"She's with Booth," Wendell says impatiently, without taking his eyes from the computer screen. When his boss doesn't answer, he looks up and finds her staring at him. "Oh, I'm sorry." He clears his throat. "I, um, believe Dr. Brennan is with Agent Booth."

"Very impressive," she chuckles and walks toward the screen, leaning in as her eyes begin to squint at it.

"Hey, where's Brennan?" they hear from behind them, though none of them bother to neither turn around nor answer the question.

Angela steps on the platform as well and makes her way to the pathologist and the grad student with a proud smirk on her face. "Have you seen Brennan?" she asks again. "I got a hit on the japanese ninja whatever thing she asked me to look into."

"She's with Booth," is Cam's and Wendell's synchronized answer, both completely absorbed by the picture on the screen.

"With _Booth_?" she repeats, remembering the night at Brennan's place and the agent's sudden–and quite inconvenient–appearance. However, since she knows she doesn't have time to overanalyze anything at the moment, Angela decides to focus on work. Her eyes travel to the computer and she lets out a gasp. "Is that what I think it is? Is it the–"

"Yep," Wendell nods. "The murder weapon."

Hodgins makes his way to the group, a gleeful smile on his lips.

"Hey, has anyone seen Dr. B?" His eyes flicker between them and the screen. "What are you staring at?"

"Murder weapon," the trio says in chorus.

Brennan joins them as her hands work her hair into a messy knot.

"What about it? Have you found it yet?" she wants to know.

"Dr. B, I think you're really gonna like this," Hodgins declares, a cocky grin forming on his face.

* * *

As he turns around on his bed, he curses himself for not being able to shake off the memories that bounce around his mind. Finally, and after hours of sighing and squeezing his eyes shut, he casts a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand and gives up with a snort. 5:14 AM. Obviously, he won't be getting any sleep tonight either.

Careful not to wake Hannah up, he rolls out of the bed and tiptoes through the bedroom, shutting the door silently behind him. After his eyes adjust to the darkness of the night, he finds himself pouring some scotch into a glass. He's so damn confused. No, scratch that. He's _mad_. So fucking mad.

Ever since his conversation with Cam at the bar, he's being haunted by six–or seven?–years of memories, all of them including or about his partner. It's not like it hasn't happened before, Brennan showing up on his head and making him smile; only problem is, last time her blue eyes lead him to insomnia was almost a year ago during his first days apart from her after she'd left for the Maluku islands.

Almost a year. That's a lot of time, time in which a lot of things can change; and they have. He moved on–for both hers and his own sake–and, most important, he found Hannah, who's a beautiful, smart, fun woman that's neither afraid of loving him nor letting him love her. She gets along with Parker, his friends and pretty much everyone she meets, and she...she just fits in his life perfectly.

And that glint of perfection, that balance Hannah brings to his world is exactly why, even before hearing Cam's words, every time he sees his partner, he feels like shaking some sense into her overdeveloped brain. Because, no matter what everybody else thinks, she didn't have the right. No, no, _she didn't have the right_ to come and tell him that she _just_ realized she missed her chance with him. Not when he's with someone else, and certainly not when the reason he was open to start something with Hannah in the first place was because he thought he and Brennan were never going to go through that door he'd opened that night by the Hoover.

But then again, his partner of six years probably also thought he didn't have the right to gamble with them back then. After all, he _did_ choose to break their dynamic and go for a different outcome, as he'd told her himself. And he'd hoped with all his heart that she wouldn't say no, even though he knew her enough to know that she's someone you just _don't_ rush.

Still, how could he let go of the opportunity to tell her that he, despite the fact that they do see the world in different ways, really did believe in a future with her?

_Temperance Brennan. You're in love with her. You're building a world around her, a family. _Gordon Wyatt's word followed by his own _She doesn't love me, I would know if she loved me_ are the specific sentences that haunt him tonight. Obviously, he doesn't know as much as he thought.

"Having trouble sleeping?" Hannah asks after a moment of studying her boyfriend in silence without him noticing it.

"Hey," he greets her, acknowledging her presence. "Sorry I woke you up," Booth apologizes, putting down the empty glass on the coffee table across him.

She shakes her head and gives him a sleepy smile. "Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"

"Sure," Booth answers shortly.

Hannah nods and walks over to him, collapsing softly on the couch next to Booth. "You never told me how the case went," she comments in a attempt to prolong their conversation.

"What case?" he asks absently, still trying to catch up with reality.

"The one you closed yesterday?" Hannah reminds him. His lack of focus and how distant he seems are two things that have her definitely worrying. "Temperance called you right after we got home saying they had found the–"

He chuckled at the memory. "The murder weapon, right."

Brennan had, in fact, called him just when he and Hannah had arrived home, informing him they'd found the exact weapon used in the murder: a rare, japanese key from the 17th century, last known to be part of a collection owned by the great grandfather of the proprietor of the dojo the victim used to frequent, who also happened to be her ex-lover. After that, the rest of the case had pretty much solved itself.

"Good", he answers at last, and clears his throat. "Yeah, it went great. Bones and I brought in the primary suspect and after I caught him lying for the third time, we finally got a confession outta him. He never explained why he felt the need to break her skull in thousand pieces, though, but I guess we can't have it all."

Hannah doesn't speak, but answers by nodding her head in approval and squeezing her boyfriend's hand slightly. "You coming back to bed?" she dares to ask after some seconds of silence. She can feel him struggling under her touch, but chooses not to push him just yet.

"Yeah, just... You go first, I'll be there in a second," he assures her, but she doesn't move. "I promise, Hannah. I'm fine."

But he's not.

–&–

**Dreadswench** – I wanted to hug Sully too even though I was the one making him suffer! And yes, Angela telling Booth to back off was probably for the best, he can't just keep breaking Brennan over and over, right?

**Gypsymuse** – Thanks for your words! Glad you like the S/B interaction and I hope you like this boothy chapter as well :)

**TheDropBear** – Ah, I'm also liking what Brennan and Sully have going on. I think they're really good for each other right now, it's like they're this two people that managed to found their way back to each other when they needed it the most.

**Diko** – Haha, yes, drunk Booth is indeed very interesting! I hope you liked this chapter as well :)

**Pilu** – Thank you very much for your review! I'm really glad that you found the argument convincing, and yes, it was really a wonderful time for Sully to come back!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** I'm posting this in a rush, so I'll be quick: thanks for the reviews and alerts – you're the best! Also, for those who have seen The Body in the Bag, [**kind of spoiler!**] I tried to make up for Booth's behavior on this chapter since I'm really hating the person he has turned into on the show. Shame on you, Booth [**end of kind of spoiler**]. Enjoy the new chapter and don't forget to tell me your opinion :]

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones. Which is a shame, really, 'cause Hart Hanson is making a very poor job nowadays.

–&–

He goes back to bed after emptying two more glasses, hyper aware of the fact that he won't be able to sleep but refusing to worry Hannah even more. So there he lies, staring at the ceiling, studying the natural light that fills the room, trying not to shift position so much. Wondering if this is his signal from the universe.

Before the sun is entirely up, he's already on the shower wishing the hot water could wash away not only his confusion, but also the memories that don't seem to give the haunting up. If they just...stopped, then maybe he could start thinking clearly – something he doesn't seem to have done in what feels like ages.

As he exits the bathroom with only his boxers on, he sees Hannah sitting on the bed, her back resting against the headboard and her eyes gazing right into his soul.

He stares at her. Just...just stares back at her intensely for a couple of seconds. She really _is_ flawless. It's not only the way she looks, but everything else in her, everything she has done to his life, the way she has improved it. It's the way her eyes manage to tell him that it's time for him to face his fears and be fair to her.

Courage is still gathering inside him when her eyes drop to her hands.

"I need to know the truth," she murmurs. "I was hoping you would talk to me before I fell asleep before, but you didn't. It's been...weeks. I don't know if I can wait any longer, Seeley," she confesses, her fingers playing absently with the tops of her golden hair.

The hurt in her voice cuts right through him. Booth knows what he has to do, what he owes her in the name of their relationship and the love he feels for her, but it doesn't mean he's ready to deal with the slashing pain that's starting to grow on his chest nor cause Hannah any pain whatsoever. Making his way to her, he sits on her side of the bed, right where her legs end, and props himself with his elbows on his knees.

He can feel her eyes on him now, and he sucks in a deep, encouraging breath.

"I'm a former sniper."

A heartbeat passes, and then...

"I'm sorry, what?" she asks, incredulously.

She was expecting a confession regarding their relationship, not his past. And certainly, not a confession like this one.

"I was a sniper," he repeats, his eyes always on the white, plain wall in front of him. "I killed people because my superiors told me to. Because it was an order." A forced chuckle flies through his lips.

"Seeley..." Hannah begins, clearly struggling with his uttered words but unable to ignore his pain.

Before her hand reached his, he hurries to say, "Wait, Hannah, there's more." Now that he began, he has to be able to finish without interruption. "After coming back to DC from the war-zone and before I joined the FBI, I developed a gambling problem. I...I'm a former sniper, _and_ a former gambler. It went as far as me not sleeping because I was up all night gambling away money I didn't even had." He makes a pause, but decides to keep going when Hannah doesn't speak. "I also had a brain tumor two years ago," he adds, pointing at the back of his head with one finger and a half-smile on his face. "And," he continues as his smile fades away, fairly aware that the next part is probably the worst one, "the reason I went to Afghanistan in the first place was because of–"

"Temperance," Hannah cuts him off.

His eyes snap to hers, but she's succeeding very well in avoiding his searching gaze.

There's a brief pause in which he looks down and carefully considers his next words. He could deny it, of course, or say it wasn't _her_ but their partnership–_there's a difference, right?_–and try to save what's left of his relationship with the blonde sitting next to him...but at this point, isn't it better to just tell her the whole truth, a truth she definitely deserves to know about?

"Yes," he admits at last, deliberately leaving it up to her to decide if she wants to go deeper into the subject or not.

"She said no, didn't she?" Hannah murmurs, causing his eyes to leave the floor and gaze into hers instead. Her expression is painfully unreadable. "You tried," she adds, "but she said no."

Booth swallows the lump in his throat. "How did–how did you know?"

She huffs impatiently, her mood flammable. "Because _that's who you are_, Seeley," she says, her voice raising. "Only way for you to give up is if you think there's no other option! For that to happen, she must have crushed you."

Suddenly, he's back at the Hoover. It's dark, it's cold, he has just kissed Brennan, and she's pushing away. _No, no, _she says. _Why, why?_ he demands to know. And then she says it. The line he never really took in because he was too busy trying to make sure his heart would beat again.

"She said I was the one that needed protecting," Booth tells her, feeling ashamed, guilty and bitter – all that, and more, at once.

Silence follows his words as neither of them is sure whether the conversation is over or if there's more to learn, more to explain. To confess. He doesn't know what to do. He wants her to get angry and yell at him, to curse their love and their time together, to hit him with words of disappointment. But she doesn't. Instead, Hannah rolls out of the bed and throws her last question at him.

"Why did you tell me all this?"

He looks up at her. "You wanted to know the truth," he replies, knowing it's not the answer she was aiming for.

"No, Seeley," she says with a shake of her head. "Why are you telling me all this things _now_? Why did you wait so long?"

"I don't know," he answers, burying his face on his hands for a moment. "I really don't know."

His eyes lock with Hannah's, silently pleading her to say something.

* * *

Sunshine creeps its way through the diner windows as they both enjoy their breakfast. Sully finally got the green light and is going back to the FBI, starting today, and Brennan...well, she secretly liked the thought of making him company before he heads to work, even though the reasoning she gave Sully as her chin tilted up is that 'she has grown to be very fond of the diner and enjoys the fact that the waitress always seems to know what she's going to order'.

She glances at the reinstated agent sitting across her and takes a sip of her coffee. "Are you nervous?"

"Nah," Sully dismisses the idea with a wave of his right hand. "I mean, it's not like I haven't done this before. But, you know, if you're so worried you can always hold my hand until I get to my office," he adds with a grin, leaning back on the chair and stretching his arms to the sides.

"I don't think that's necessary. I'm quite confident you'll be fine," Brennan tells him with a smile that betrays her amusement.

"You know what?" he begins, and goes smoothly around the table, switching his seat for the one next to her. "What _I_ think is that _you_," he looks into her eyes and takes the coffee cup from her hands, "have had too much of this already."

"What?" she protests. "That's ridiculous. Give it back," she orders him as her hand tries to reach out for the cup without much success.

"Nope. See? Coffee makes you cranky," Sully teases her.

"On the contrary, caffeine wakes me up," Brennan states very matter-of-factly. "Plus, your argument has no grounds."

He waves the cup in the air, thoroughly enjoying seeing her pout. "I don't care."

"But it's only my second cup today."

"Yeah, and it's not even eight o'clock."

"And you two are sitting _way_ too close to each other," Angela interrupts, sliding into the seat at the other side of the table. "Seriously, get a room," she adds with a smirk.

"Are you feeling better, Angela?" Brennan wants to know, deliberately ignoring her friend's comment.

"Yeah, well, seems as today's morning sickness is taking a vacation," the soon-to-be mom declares with a smile, grabbing a strawberry from the agent's fruit salad and eating it up in less than two seconds. "God, I love it when I feel non-pregnant in the morning."

Sully hands her a fork ."Take the rest. I was about to leave anyway."

"So soon?" Angela asks, leaning in closer. "Don't think I have forgotten about that little chat you owe me." The smile on her face looks almost devilish. "You can run, but you can't hide," she adds with a singing voice and stops a slice of apple in her mouth.

"I'm not running, I promise," the agent assures her, his hands up in surrender. "Okay, listen, I'm _all_ yours next time we meet, but right now, I really gotta go. Don't wanna get fired on my first day, you know."

Brennan rolls her eyes. "Stop saying that, you'll do just fine," she tells him, stretching out and reclaiming her cup of coffee at last.

"Of course I'll be fine, it's me we're talking about," he says with a cocky grin that quickly changes into a more humble smile when both Brennan and Angela raise an eyebrow at him. "Okay, just so you know, you two are _very_ difficult to entertain," he protests.

Angela grins, her eyes now fixed on the fruit in front of her. "Oh, you have no idea."

Sully shakes his head and leaves some bills on the table before pushing himself off the chair. He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it, and leans instead in to Brennan to place a kiss on her lips.

"Lunch?" he asks when he feels her smiling.

"I can't," Brennan answers as she remembers the lunch date with her partner. "I'm meeting Booth."

He snaps his fingers, feigning defeat. "Just my luck."

With a last smile, he whirls around and exits the diner. As soon as she's gone, Angela puts the fork down on the table, loudly enough to get her friend's attention.

"_Really_?" she says.

Brennan frowns at her friend's sarcasm. "What?"

"Nothing serious?" Angela asks making finger quotes. "Really?"

* * *

If Booth ever doubted her professional skills, now he sure as hell doesn't. Hannah has, within the last hour, been able to get him to tell her the truth about his partnership with Brennan. Well, at least the things he can tell her without betraying their 'what goes on between us, that should be ours'. Their first case together, how they became partners a year after that and how they went from that to friends. He's told her everything.

But mostly, Hannah has been curious to find out about the reason that caused them to run as far as they could from each other. So, only because he knows that she genuinely cares about both him and his partner, and because he owes her the truth for once, Booth tells her about the day he and Brennan went to see Sweets about his book and how, when they were done with the story-telling, the young psychologist pointed at him, waking up old habits and encouraging him to gamble one last time. That obviously leads him to telling Hannah about their awkward attempts to move on, and how he, after hearing about Brennan's departure to the Maluku islands, decided to leave the country as well. Finally, but not including nearly as much–or little?–details as he has with the rest of the stories, he tells her about Brennan's realization three weeks ago.

They sit in silence for several, long moments, Hannah biting her lower lip and Booth with his face buried between his hands, both of them lost in what's been said until Hannah speaks up.

"You should be honest with her," she dares him. "Tell her, before it's too late." Booth is about to speak, but she cuts him off sharply. "No, Seeley. I listened to you, now it's your turn to listen." Every time he's about to protest, it only fuels her mood. "It's not just that you've been trying to fool yourself, me _or_ her, but it's the fact that you underestimate me so much it's what really makes me mad."

"What? Hannah, that's not–"

"_Stop it, Seeley_," Hannah demands, her voice raising in indignation. "Just stop it." She makes a pause to organize her thoughts. "It's just...the way you've been looking at her, it doesn't go unnoticed. Why do you think I've been out of town four times during the past three weeks? I'm a journalist for God's sake. Granted, it took me a while to get the story right but I think this conversation is helping me to catch up pretty damn fast."

His throat is clenching, his stomach's flipping, his hands are sweating.

"Hannah, I..." he begins, hesitantly. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

And he means every word of it. He never wanted this to happen, he never asked for this. It wasn't his plan to end up hurting the two women that mean the most to him.

Shoulders relaxing, her voice becomes softer as she says, "Me too."

"I _do_ love you, y'know?" Booth tells her in a whisper. He really does, and he needs her to know.

"I know that, Seeley. I'm just not the one you're in love with." She runs her fingers through his hair, delicately. "Temperance is."

He gulps, fighting back what feels like a sob burning inside him. "I really thought I could make this work. I don't–I don't know what else to say." His vulnerable gaze meets hers. _"_I never wanted to hurt you."

"Don't be silly, I'll be fine," Hannah assures him, shrugging carefree with her shoulders. "I'm a big girl, Seeley. I tie my own shoes and everything," she jokes, bringing a smile to both his and her own lips.

* * *

The lab is as silent as it always is when there are no recent cases of murder victims to work on, not that she really complains – after all, solving the deaths of the remains from Limbo is what she gets paid for. Unfortunately, paperwork is first on the list at the moment. She gets rid of her lab coat since she doesn't actually need it while going through reports and heads to her couch. Only problem is, she doesn't even get to open the first folder when her phone starts ringing.

"Brennan."

She's holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she tries to put her hair on a ponytail.

_Heya, Bones. Everything alright?_

Booth.

She finishes the ponytail and grabs the phone with her right hand. "What's going on? Do we have a case?"

_Case?_ he asks back. _No, Bones, it's just that... _He makes a pause and clears his throat. _It's just that I'm not sure I'm gonna make it for lunch today._

"Oh, no problem," Brennan says, hoping that he doesn't pick up the slightly disappointment that flies through her voice. She rubs her temples with her free hand and adds, "I'll see you soon, then."

He burst into a brief laugh. _Woah, take it easy, Bones. You're more in a hurry than the Road Runner, huh?_

"I don't know what that means," she says with a smile – the immediate effect that her partner's laugh has always had on her.

_It's a cartoo–nevermind, I'll explain it for you later_, he chuckles. _Listen, I was thinking that maybe I could drop by the lab before you finish and we could, you know, grab a bite or something. What do you say?_

Always the gentleman.

"Booth, you don't need to feel guilty because you're canceling lunch. I understand."

_What?_ he laughs again. _No, no, who said anything about feeling guilty? C'mon Bones, it's simple. I pick you up, we grab a bite, you steal my fries and then we bicker about who's right about something. Deal?_

"Okay," Brennan agrees, shaking her head and smiling at her partner's description of what Angela calls 'the pre-mastodon in the room time'. "That sounds good."

_Great. I'll see you later then, say hi to the squint squad for me_, he says and hangs up without waiting for an answer.

In spite of herself, the smile doesn't leave her lips, and with a shake of her head she goes back to the reports.

* * *

Even though it's been hours since they talked, hearing Brennan's voice in the light of the new situation felt absolutely refreshing and totally right, and Booth's mind floats around the–all of a sudden not so disturbing–memories that keep haunting him until he hears a familiar voice that drags him back.

"Agent Booth?"

His eyes fly open and he sees Sweets sitting down on the chair across his desk. Booth gives him an inquisitive look.

"You told Agent Charlie that you wanted to see me?" the psychologist offers.

"Huh? Oh. Yes. Yeah, right," he says with a nod as he catches up with reality. He decides to go right to the point. After all, Sweets is _the_ person that knows everything about his relationship with Brennan. "Um, you know that thing that happened a couple of weeks ago, with Bones? You know, when she said–"

"When she told you she loved you?" Sweets cuts him off with a smile.

Looking like a mess, Booth had come to him a couple of days after the Eame's case and told him about Brennan's confession and even though he had felt like it wasn't at all appropriate, a big grin had formed on his lips after hearing the story.

"What?" he exclaims and shakes his head. "No, no, she never said she _loved_ me."

"But she told you she had regrets about you," Sweets points out, fixing his tie and finding it very interesting that Booth is suddenly so open about the subject.

"Yeah, but it's still not the same thing. She never used _those_ words. C'mon, Sweets, you're a shrink. You should know the difference."

The psychologist sits straight on the chair. "You're right, you're right. Have you told Hannah yet?"

"See, that's the thing. Hannah and I–"

"Agent Booth!" they hear from the hallway, and two seconds later Charlie's entering the office. "Hey, Agent Booth! Guess who's back?"

Of course he had to be interrupted the very first time he actually wants some shrinky advice from Sweets.

"Who?" Booth asks impatiently.

"Sullivan!" his colleague replies with a smile.

Booth's jaw drops as he stands up from his chair.

"Can you believe it?" Charlie keeps going, "After fours years! I just ran into him on the elevator, he was already on his way home but hey, he's back. Isn't that great?"

Forcing a smile, he lays both hands on the desk, propping himself up. "That's just..." the agent begins, trying to find the right word, "...dandy."

He doesn't quite know why he's forcing himself to smile. He and Sully always got along, even during his relationship with Brennan – well, except for that little 'testosterone spill on aisle four' which really, was nothing. Nothing. And...and it was about damn time he got back, because seriously, four years of sailing toward the horizon are enough for driving anyone crazy.

Charlie leaves after some more words of excitement to which Booth only nods and Sweets just...listens.

As soon as the other agent is out of sight, Sweets speaks up. "Was he referring to...?"

"Sullivan as in Sully, as in Bones' ex-boyfriend? That's correct," Booth replies through clenched teeth. Shaking his head and collapsing on the chair again, he tries to go back to what he was about to say before Charlie came in to the office. "Okay, listen, Sweets. And listen very carefully, 'cause this is important..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **Soo sorry it took me so long to update, I guess I was stuck in that little condition called writer's block, haha. Anyway, here's the new chapter! Not my best work ever, but I'm quite satisfied with it. It's a little angsty, but I love me some angst every now and then so that's probably why. Also, for the 'end scene' on the chapter, picture yourself the little table at the end of The Intern in the Incinerator (3x06) and how they were sitting there. Thanks for the comments and alerts! Please don't forget to review and tell me what you think :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones, but that doesn't mean I love it less!

_TheDropBear: _Don't be worried! It will all work out eventually (sounds familiar? Haha). They're both good for each other at the moment, yes, but things will change a bit now that Booth is back on his senses.

_SquintingatBones, BrennanBooth and jicalazuxil:_ Thank you very very much! I hope you like this chapter too :)

–&–

"So, where's Hannah now?" Sweets wants to know after listening to what the agent had to tell him in complete silence and without interrupting once.

After all, the psychologist does have enough experience to know that, if he had interrupted, it would most definitely had cost him the rest of the story. And _that_ was something he just couldn't afford.

"She...she moved out," Booth replies, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. "After we talked this morning, she went to a meeting and I came to work, and then she called me before noon asking if I could meet her for lunch." He makes a pause as he remembers their last conversation over his hamburger and her salad. "She's going on a big assignment to New York for a couple of days and then back to Afghanistan," he explains and glances at the clock hanging on the wall. "I guess she's already on her way there."

"Okay," Sweets says with a nod, taking the information in.

"But I..." he trails off, insecurity sparkling in his eyes. "I made her promise me that she would come back to DC before she leaves for Afghanistan."

Sweets shrugs and gives him a smile. "I can see why."

"You do?"

"Yes, of course. Even though you're now and once again aware of your feelings for Dr. Brennan, that doesn't mean you stopped loving Hannah. She's a big part of your life and you obviously care about her."

"Exactly! Thank you," Booth exclaims, pointing a finger at Sweets as a wide smile forms on his lips. "It's just...a different kind of love, I guess," he adds, grabbing a small boll from his desk. He throws it in the air and catches it several times before speaking again. "So, what do you think I should do?"

"What do _you_ want to do?" Sweets throws the question back at him.

His reply comes so fast it almost sounds fast-forwarded. "I wanna see Bones."

Sweets chooses his words with tweezers before leaning in and closing the gap between his body and the desk separating him from the agent.

"Agent Booth," he begins, trying his best not to sound too _shrinky_, "do you really think that's the best idea?"

"What do you mean?" Booth frowns, a hint of disappointment flying through his eyes. "You don't think I should see her?"

"No, no–that's not what I meant," he hurries to clarify, rubbing his temples before saying anything more. "I just think that maybe... I mean, maybe you shouldn't rush into something right after your relationship with Hannah has broken off."

"You think I'm gonna go straight to Bones and tell her everything?" Booth scoffs. "Jeez, Sweets, have a little faith in me."

He puts the ball down with a serious expression on his face. Things are much clearer now; he knows what he needs to do. The picture of Brennan loosening herself from his grip as soon as he had touched her flies across his mind. He needs to gain her trust again. It's not going to be easy and it's going to take some time, but it's worth it. It's totally worth it.

"Oh, okay," Sweets adds, studying the agent's expression. Finally, he leans back on the seat and crosses his legs. "Well, you seem to be quite sure about what your next step is going to be, but if you need anything..."

"You'll be the first one to know," Booth says casually, not really aware of how much his words mean to the young psychologist.

Silence fills the room for a brief moment, and then...

"If you'd like..." Sweets clears his throat. "Um, Daisy and I are going out for dinner tonight, maybe you and Dr. Bren–"

Booth stands up as he smoothens his tie. "No can do, kid. Bones and I have old times plans," he says with a grin. He heads to the door but stops by the doorframe and turns to look at Sweets. "But, um...thanks for...y'know," he adds with a shrug and leaves without waiting for an answer.

He sinks further down on the seat with a smile on his face."Sure," Sweets says, more for himself than the now gone agent.

* * *

"You ready to go?" he asks as he steps into her office.

She's standing in front of her desk, her hands holding an open folder with the Jeffersonian's logo on it and her eyes reading through it meticulously.

"No," Brennan replies, lifting her head to look at Sully. "I have at least an hour of paperwork left," she nods toward the bunch of folders scattered on her desk, only to let her eyes fall back to the folder right away.

He walks toward her couch and sits down casually. "B., it's past five. I think you're pretty much done here."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, okay," he gives up, holding up his hands in surrender. "You still need to eat, it's been hours since lunchtime."

"I didn't have lunch," she tells him putting the folder down on her desk.

"What? I thought you were meeting Booth," he says, and straightens himself in the couch, highly aware of how upset he just sounded.

Her eyebrow quirks up and her arms fold across her chest. "Yes, I was, but something came up and he had to cancel." What is it with every man she meets that they all feel the need to be so annoyingly over-protective? "He's coming by after work instead."

"Then I better leave," Sully says as he pushes himself from the couch.

"What–why would you do that?"

"Because he's Booth, and he doesn't know about...whatever you want to call the thing that's going on between us," he says with a smile. "He doesn't know, and you have your reasons for not telling him and I respect that."

"That doesn't mean you have to leave," Brennan protests. "You're making no sense," she adds, though, somewhere deep inside, she's hyper aware of how right he is.

"Actually, I'm making all the sense in the world." His words are as serious and sincere as his expression. "I don't care about him knowing, but you do, so I'll go home. Come by later if you want, but don't expect any caffeine 'cause I'm planning to hide the coffee pot," he jokes, causing her to laugh and look down as she shakes her head. He walks over to her and places his finger underneath her chin, lifting her head up. "Do we have a deal, Dr. Brennan?"

She bits her lips, suppressing a smile. "I believe we do, Agent Sullivan," she tells him, and drags him in for a kiss as her fingers clench on his suit. "Thank you," she murmurs against his lips.

Delicately, he tucks an auburn lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't mind, really. I got off early but he should be here in an hour or so, that gives you time to finish the paperwork, and finishing paperwork should keep you from casting death glares at people," he teases her, not really counting on Brennan to grab one of the folders from the desk and smack him with it on the forearm. "Hey!"

"You deserved it," she states, and watches him walk toward the doorway.

He gives her a last smile. "I guess I did."

* * *

The glass walls allow him to stop a few meters from her office and consider her for a moment before going in. She's resting her back against her desk with one hand on the edge of it serving as extra support, the other one running carelessly through her hair. There's probably someone else there with her because her lips part and her mouth moves, making it easy for words he can't hear to escape them. Suddenly, she bursts into laugh and looks down as she shakes her head in amusement.

He can't help but smile at the view. Seeing her like that–even if he's not able to hear the sound of her lovely laugh–is something he's always going to want to witness. His eyes drop to the floor for a fraction in which he tries to gather the courage to finish his way to her, but when he looks up again, the view doesn't solely include her anymore.

His eyes widen painfully as his partner's gaze goes from the floor to a man whom Booth immediately recognizes. He doesn't even get to react before he sees her smile and pull the man in for a kiss. It's like a flashback, really, only her hair is darker and his suit is grey instead of black and...it's not a flashback. It's not a memory from four years ago. It's happening now, right in front of him. But how, _how_?

He hears footsteps approaching him, but his eyes are fixed, _glued_, on Brennan's office.

"Seeley," Cam calls him, catching up with him and grabbing his arm. "Office. Now."

"W-What?" He's too shocked and confused to fight Cam's grip so he lets himself be quickly dragged into his friend's office where he sees Angela standing by the desk. "_What the hell is going on_?" he barks once the door is shut.

"Sully's back," Angela says cautiously. For some reason, she's not quite meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, Charlie came to my office with the news bulletin. I guess he forgot to mention the part where he's also back with my partner," he snaps with both hands resting on his hips.

Cam lets out a sigh. "Seeley..." she begins, but is sharply interrupted by Angela.

"Drop it, Booth. You can't do this anymore."

Her eyes are now burning through him furiously.

"_Do what_?" Booth demands to know, too confused with the situation to even care to pay attention to the volume of his own voice.

"_This_," she exclaims, making emphasis on the single word she utters. "Be over-protective. Pay attention to every move she makes. Send mixed signals. You can't."

Booth groans and paces the floor, raging. Thousands of thoughts are flying through his head, but one of them manages to stick around. His gaze snaps back to Angela. "Is _this_ why you kicked me out of her apartment the other day?"

"What is he talking about?" Cam wants to know.

"Really, Booth?" the artist says with that shrilly voice she gets whenever she's offended. "You show up _late_ in the night at my best friend's door, _stinking_ tequila and you think _Sully's_ the reason I told you to leave? You're unbelievable," she scoffs throwing her arms up in exasperation.

Deep down, he knows Angela has a valid point but he's too damn riled up to even consider given in. "Did you know about this?" he barks in Cam's direction, whom only answers by nodding her head slightly. "That's just _great_."

"Booth," Angela calls him, her voice suddenly much softer. "She made her choice and so did you." She makes a short pause as she thinks of the best way to say the next thing without sounding like she's trying to accuse him or make him feel guilty. "You're with...you're with Hannah now."

He opens his mouth to protest and let both Angela and Cam know that he and Hannah are no longer together, but decides against it. If they think that it's bad of him to come and react this way when he supposedly has Hannah, which conclusion are they going to reach when they find out he is about to run towards Brennan right after his break-up with the blonde? What is his partner herself, whose trust he's already losing, going to think of him?

"You're right," he says at last, but his words are only followed by silence. "You're right," he repeats, as if trying to really, _really_ convince them.

Both women's eyes travel from him to each other's and then to the door behind Booth that's suddenly open again. Hodgins comes in squinting at a book he's holding between his hands and stops a few steps after the doorway.

"Hey, Cam? I think this will make me the _eternal_ King of the Lab," he says with a smirk and looks up to see Booth, Angela and Cam staring at him. "Never...mind," the scientist adds when he catches Booth's expression. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Booth says. He turns to Cam and Angela. "You know what, just–just tell her that I called saying I'm working late tonight and that I won't... I won't be able to pick her up."

Less than a minute later, his fist is hitting the concrete pillar next to his car on the Jeffersonian's parking lot.

* * *

_She was kissing another man_.

Not only any man either but someone she has history with, someone Booth _knows_ not only understood her but also knew how to handle her. And if–it hurts to even think the sentence–she's back with him, it can only mean that Sully still has that knowledge. Well, of course he does, Temperance Brennan and the things you learn about her aren't exactly something you forget about, even if you want to. He knows it, he tried. He tried to move on. Can he really blame her for doing the same?

"Are you avoiding me?"

As soon as he hears the voice, he knows it's hers. For a fraction, Booth feels the urge to punch himself: this is the second time in less than a week that she takes him by surprise, showing up at his office without him even noticing it until her voice reaches his ears. And both times–_oh bittersweetness_–he has been thinking of her. The circumstances, however, have changed.

The first time, he was confused, haunted by years of memories and trying to reassure himself of something he now knows wasn't real: his relationship with Hannah. Now, three days later, there's only one image bouncing around his head, and that image is the one he saw a couple of hours ago before he was dragged into Cam's office. Part unconsciously, part on purpose, his teeth clench before he puts down the glass of liquor and looks up to Brennan.

"Now, Bones, why would I do that?" he asks back. His hands are trembling, maybe because of the liquor, maybe because of her presence.

She's standing by the doorframe, looking nearly as confused as he is, although there's a determined spark in her pale eyes.

"You called Cam."

"What?" he asks, utterly confused. When did he do that?

"You called Cam," she repeats and decides to explain herself before he answers with another 'what?'. "You called and told her that you were working late and that you weren't going to come by the Jeffersonian," she explains, still refusing to leave her spot by the door.

"Oh," he says as he figures out the lie they must have told his partner after he left. Distractedly, his fingers brush the glass resting on the little table. "Yeah, I called her. What does that have to do with anything?"

Rational or not, he can feel her gaze on him, seeking for his, trying to find him.

"You didn't call _me_."

Now he wants to punch himself again. She's using all the things he has taught her about reading people over the years, and she's using them on _him_. Obviously, the student has become the master since he wasn't good enough to read her and notice the changes in her life. Or _the_ single change in her life. He straightens himself in the seat before speaking again.

"Yeah, I was... I was on the phone with her anyway so I thought she could, y'know, deliver the message," he says, and looks finally right into her eyes, smiling sadly.

A strange feeling bubbles inside of her. "Oh, okay," she replies, feeling slightly foolish for jumping to conclusions so quickly. The one thing she never does, she did it with him. Before he gets to say anything else, she gestures toward the bottle of liquor lying on the edge of the table. "Do you want company?"

Automatically, he opens his mouth to say 'no', because, really, he does not want company. He wants to be alone, away from her and the thoughts of her and her fingers clenching around the lapels of Sully's suit and dragging him closer and...he can't. He has never been able do deny her anything, ever, especially when her blue, blue eyes are gazing into his in that pleading way.

He gives up and waves her in and toward the chair at the other side of the little table. "Sure."

She takes off her coat and hangs it on the chair before grabbing his glass and pouring some gin for herself, taking then a large sip of it as she sits down. Neither of them say anything as she finishes her drink and slides the glass toward him indicating him that it's his turn. Something's wrong and she, surprisingly, senses it...which can only mean that something's really, _really_ wrong. But she has never had anything against silence taking over them and this time he doesn't seem to mind, and if he does, he's definitely not letting it show.

They keep on with the drink-and-pass-the-glass game until Booth, several minutes later, puts it down and murmurs, "Do you believe in second chances?"

Taken aback by his sudden question, she tries to come up with an answer from the perspective she knows best. "Scientifically speaking, nothing in this universe happens just once."

A particular moment between her and Angela flies through her mind. She'd told the artist the exact same thing many, many years ago while they sat on a red couch in a house in the middle of the dessert.

Booth lets out a brief, forced laugh as he shakes his head a little.

"C'mon, Bones, you know that's not what I mean," he protests as he leans closer, propping himself on the table with his elbows. "Forget about the scientific jibber-jabber. What do you," he slides the glass to her, "believe in?"

"I'm a scientist, Booth," she reminds him, getting sudden and brief flashbacks from the night by the Hoover. She makes a pause in which she makes sure to pull herself together. "I believe in facts. And facts tell us that infinity goes in both directions," she says, but when she sees him shaking his head in what seems to be frustration, she adds, "Therefore, yes. I do believe in second chances."

"Well..." He pours some more liquor into the glass and takes a large, ardent sip. "To be honest, right now I only believe in crappy timing. So cheers for that, huh, Bones?"

Booth knows that–once again–the alcohol is, perhaps not speaking for him, but making him believe that uttering his inner thoughts is a _very_ good idea at the moment. He hovers the glass in the air and waves it as his lips utter a 'chin' noise, completely missing her confused gaze since he's too busy finishing the rest of the drink in one simple sip.

"Did something happen?" Brennan asks at last, her eyes searching for his without much success. He doesn't answer. "Did you and Hannah had a fight?"

"Nope," Booth says with a smile that's a little bit too wide to appear sincere. "Everything's just the way it should be."

The last part doesn't feel like a lie. While there was a break-up, he and Hannah didn't fight, they just reached their expiration date. That thought, or to be more precisely, that fact, is yet something he isn't going to reveal to his partner no matter how much alcohol is running through his veins. It's not that he doesn't trust her–it would be so much easier if that was the reason–it's just that he knows her well enough to know that the second he tells her, she's going to start asking questions due to that curious nature of hers and he's probably not going to be able to skip the part where he and the blonde journalist broke up because he's still in love with the woman sitting across him.

No, he can't do that, he can't put pressure on her again, especially not now that she has...moved on. Not now that she laughs and smiles like she hadn't done since they all came back from their time apart.

But he's not saying any of those things out loud, so Brennan sits there and studies his sad smile–the one she will never get used to see–and thinks for herself that maybe...maybe he doesn't trust her anymore. Perhaps they really are so damaged that neither of them can bring themselves to open up for the other one. She should know that, she still hasn't told him about Sully. But is it, really, a matter of trust?

Well, whatever it is, it's certainly too overwhelming.

"I have to go," she says abruptly as she stands up and reaches for her coat. "I'll you see tomorrow?" There they are, those pleading blue eyes.

Swiftly, Booth pushes himself off the chair. "What?" he asks in surprise. Okay, they aren't exactly having the most meaningful conversation of their lives, but didn't she just got to his office? Can't they just...sit for a while? "Wait, don't..." but he stops himself. He has to let her go. Clenching his teeth, he supremes the urge to beg her to stay and says instead, "Do you, um, want me to call a cab for you?"

"No, that's not necessary," she says softly. "I have my car. You should go home, Hannah must be worried." She gives him one more smile before turning around to leave.

"Listen, Bones. Hey," Booth calls her, grabbing her hand gently and causing her to freeze by the doorway. "Wait a minute, would ya'?"

And... the spark. How can she _not_ feel that? Silence takes over again. He doesn't say anything else, unconsciously waiting for her to loosen herself from his grip like she did days ago. But she doesn't. She just... stops. Stops breathing when she hears his 'hey', stops walking the second his hand grabs hers, stops thinking she's not capable of fixing things between them as he tightens the grip. She turns to face him slowly, and her lips part as her brain struggles with the words.

This is it, her chance to come clean.

"Booth," she tries, "there is something I have to t–"

That's when her phone rings.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **Posting in a rush again, I'm sorry! I'll answer to your lovely reviews as soon as I can, promise. For now, I'll just leave you with this new – and a bit longer than usual :D – chapter. Thanks for the reviews and alerts! And as I always tell you: let me know what you think, pleaaase :)

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Bones. Fox and Hanson do. . Bastards.

–&–

The phone, screaming to be picked up from her pocket, forces him to let go of her hand so that she can answer the call. Brennan gives him a half–and quite uncomfortable–smile while she reaches for the device and presses the green button. Booth mutters something inaudible before collapsing on the chair again, cursing technology and the progress of mass media.

"Brennan," she answers. "No, I'm at the Hoover. Yes, he's with me." She glances at Booth quickly before going back to stare at his wall full of diplomas and prizes. "What are the contexts of the finding?" she wants to know after a few seconds of silence.

Of course they have a case, he thinks bitterly. Booth lifts himself from the seat and heads to the desk where his badge and gun are lying. He grabs them and starts getting ready as his partner talks a bit more with whoever is on the other side of the line. By the time she hangs up, he's smoothing the jacket of his suit.

Brennan shoots him a skeptical look. "What are you doing?"

He extends his arms to the side, shrugging. "Well, we have a case, don't we?"

"But the FBI's forensic team is already there," she states with a worried look on her face. "And you've been drinking," she adds.

"What about you, then?" Booth questions waving his hand toward her.

"I told you, I have my car. I'll just drive there."

"I wasn't offering you a ride, Bones," he replies, shaking his head slightly. "I meant you drank too."

She smirks at him. "My alcohol tolerance is quite high."

"Well, then, that's why we're partners, so that you can drive when I'm not supposed to," he states with a smile as we walks toward her.

Brennan blinks. "No, that's not what I..." she begins while she watches him walk over to her. "But–"

"Nope, no 'buts'," he cuts her off, placing both his hands on her back and pushing Brennan outside of the office. "We're going, you and me. That's what partners do, they stick together. Finito."

"I didn't know you speak Italian," she says when they get to the hallway and his hands leave her back. For some reason, his insistence is making her feel all warm inside, even though she knows it shouldn't.

Booth lets out a chuckle. "I've been telling you this for years, Bones: I'm a constant surprise." A thought hit him, and he freezes in the middle of the hallway. "Wait a minute," he demands, lifting his arm in front of her to stop her. "Why did they call _you_? I'm the one that gets the calls and then we, you know, team up and head to the crime scene."

"But they did call you, Booth." She walks by him and pushes the button to call for the elevator. "You didn't pick up."

"That is _so_ not true," he says, grabbing the phone from his jacket pocket and flipping it open. Seven missed calls and two text messages, and one of them is from Hacker. "Oh," he comments, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"You see?" Brennan asks with another proud smirk as she tries to peek over his arm to take a look the screen of the phone.

"Wh–what? Quit that, Bones, will ya'?" he says, feigning annoyance and throwing the phone back to his pocket. "Peeking over my shoulder, _jeez_. What happened to privacy?"

"You are aware of the fact that the reason you didn't hear the phone is because you were occupied drinking?" It's more of a statement than a question, and she misses the annoyed glance he casts at her when the elevator doors open and she steps in. "Which is why you should go home instead of being irrationally stubborn and coming with me."

"Okay, Bones, you know what?" Booth says, stepping into the elevator as well and pushing the button before she gets to do it. "How about some quiet time until we get to the car, that would be nice, huh?"

This time, she doesn't miss his expression–which is one of pure amusement–and both smile at each other until the elevator doors close. And on their way to the crime scene, Brennan doesn't try to bring up what she was about to say before her phone rang and Booth doesn't remind her. They certainly think about during the whole ride, but they know each other well enough to know that the moment is gone.

* * *

Her little bump is anything but little anymore. Well, compared to how it will be at the end of the pregnancy, maybe it isn't that big, but she's so new at this that the only word she can think to describe it is–

"Huge," Angela whines in a loud breath, throwing her arms up in defeat, _so_ tired of shifting positions in front of the mirror.

"Everything alright?" Hodgins asks her as he walks into their bedroom.

"_No_," she snaps, looking at him and pointing at her belly. "It's huge! Nothing _fits_ anymore. I need to get out of here. Go to the mall? Yeah, the mall sounds good," she says as she stands up and glances at her husband. "You coming with me?"

Hodgins lets out a brief laugh before reaching for her hand and guiding her back to him. She stares at him as they sit down on the side of the bed.

"Okay, Ange, I know your hormones like to go wild every now and then but the _natural_ size of the little bump that is our child can't be what's really bothering you," he states and releases her hand. "Spill the beans, baby."

Angela sighs heavily and considers the situation. It's not like she can lie to him, or deny what he just said, but at the same time... maybe she's just being hormonal, maybe _it is_ just the pregnancy. She can't freak out over a thing like this. But then again, she can't go around and not let Hodgins know what's going through her mind.

"I'm worried, Jack," she says at last, her eyes dropping to her hands.

Shoulders tense and he jumps from the bed. "About the baby? Why, is something wrong?" he asks. "Do you want me to call for the helicopter?"

"What? No, no," Angela stops him by grabbing his hand and pulling him back to the side of the bed. "I'm worried about Brennan."

"Dr. B? She seemed pretty fine to me today. Happy, even," Hodgins admits with a wide grin. He if someone was glad to see her smile a real smile for a change. "Who would have known that she and Sully would find their way back to each other, huh?"

She frowns. "That's exactly what worries me," Angela confesses. "I love Brennan to bites and pieces, but do you really think she's ready for someone like Sully right after she came to terms with her feelings for Booth and sort of admitted them to him?"

"She did _what_?"

"Oh, right," she says, feeling a bit guilty for just let herself pop out things about her best friend. "I forgot you didn't know about that." She shakes her head stubbornly. "But it doesn't matter anyway, 'cause they're both with different people now."

"Ange," he murmurs, grabbing her hand ans squeezing it gently. "I don't want to sound insensitive, but... Brennan is an adult. And she has grown so much during the past years – and yes, Booth has a lot to do with that but so do you, Ange. So do you."

"It's just... I always thought they would end up together," she says, looking away to avoid her husband's gaze. "And I kept... _pushing_ her to admit her feelings and now that she did the timing just sucks."

He lets out a sigh. "Hey, Ange, look at me," Hodgins demands softly and notices the darkness in her eyes when she follows his lead. "This is _not_ your fault."

"Really? 'Cause it certainly feels like it. I'm her best friend, Jack." Her eyes become slightly watery, and she burst into a sad laugh. "She's so fragile and oblivious to the world, but she's always been like that. I'm the one that knows better. I _should_ have known better."

Hodgins' heart breaks along with hers. "Okay, you have to stop right there," he pleads. "We _all_ love Dr. B, but don't you think she has the right to make her own mistakes? Isn't that the best way to grow?"

"I... I guess so," Angela gives in, still unsure.

"You _know_ so. Have a little faith in her, Ange," he tells her and places a soft kiss on her lips. "Now, before we call it tonight, is there something I can do for you and the baby?"

"Watermelon," she says tilting her head slightly with a smile on her face. "The baby loves fruit."

"Right away," Hodgins says with a wink before he stands up. "Oh, by the way... Cam called, they found a new body. Don't worry," he begins when Angela attempts to stand up as well, "they won't need us until tomorrow morning. However, Dr. B is at lab looking at the body now."

"What? I have to go there, Jack, she won't even sleep if nobody's–"

"Yeah, won't be necessary. Booth's with her," Hodgins informs her, a little bit too amused, as he makes his way out of the bedroom.

"_Booth's_ there? Wait, Hodgins, are they alone?" Angela demands to know, the volume of her voice increasing with every step her husband takes as he walks away from her. "Jack, come back _now_. For the baby!"

* * *

"Please, Dr. Brennan, tell me you've found something good," Cam begs while walking into Brennan's office, causing the anthropologist to look up from her desk to her. "I left Paul alone with Michelle, and _trust_ me when I say that I need to get back to them as soon as possible. Turns out Michelle has better interrogation skills than the people on those CSI series."

Brennan quirks an eyebrow. "I don't know what that means."

"It means she's the boss and she wants you to be quick," Booth explains from the couch, half-laughing.

Cam's head snaps to the couch. "Seeley!" she exclaims, glancing at him, then at Brennan and then back at Booth. "What... are you doing here?" she asks raising a inquisitive eyebrow.

He flashes one of his charm smiles and nods toward his partner. "Just keepin' Bones here company."

Brennan shoots him a harsh glance. "I told you, I don't need babysitting," she says sharply.

"And I told you I'm _not_ leaving, so what's the problem?"

"The problem is that you _clearly_ don't have _any _respe–"

"Okay, _enough_ you two," Cam interrupts. She knows by now that it's never a good idea to say anything else that might result in her getting caught up in the middle of their bickering so she simply goes straight to the point. "Fill me in," she asks the anthropologist.

Brennan hands her the folder containing the pictures of the crime scene and explains the context of the finding. Booth doesn't even bother to listen since it's always the same jibber-jabber to him. All he really needs is the sort of things that will lead him to the murderer, things he _knows_ the squint squad will provide him with as soon as they can. A cocky grin makes appearance on his lips as he thinks about the six years of constant work with all of the squints and how they've never failed him. However, Cam's shrilly voice drags him back to the present and forces him to look up in both women's direction.

"A _what_?" Cam asks, leaning in on the desk to take a better look at the pictures.

"Scalpel," she replies, running her forefinger through a picture of the legs of the victim and stopping on the right ankle. "Here. It was found inside of the right sole. The feet were the only part of the body that were still fleshy."

"Just the feet?" Cam wonders, her answer being a single nod that Brennan gives her. "Have you been able to calculate time of death?"

"Seven to ten days ago," the partners answer in chorus. They glance at each other quickly, Brennan being the one to break the gaze first.

"Our forensic team collected all the bugs and branches they could find and sent the results to Bones a while ago," Booth adds. "I made sure they saved some for Hodgins so he can run his own tests tomorrow."

Cam squints at the pictures. "The stage of decomposition is unusual for a body found on the woods. And this pattern here... something must have caused the flesh to disintegrate faster," she mutters more to herself than the other two people in the room. "I'll collect some samples right away," she concludes closing the folders and holding them against her body. "Care to join me?" she asks the agent, her eyes wide open and clearly telling him that he better come with her.

"Me?" Booth asks back, placing a hand on his chest. "Can I come by later? Bones might need me her–"

"I don't," Brennan hurries to clarify–honest as usual–and misses her partner's death glare when her eyes fall back to the reports resting on the desk. "I need to examine the rest of the skeleton, you don't posses the abilities to help me with that."

"Great," the pathologist says before Booth starts to argue. She walks over to him to link her arm with his, mostly to make sure he doesn't run away when they leave the office. "I'll get back to you as soon as I find something," she assures Brennan, who only answers by looking up to them briefly before they exit the room.

They walk through the lab and into the first's office in silence, Booth always one or two steps behind her with his hands buried on the pockets of the suit jacket. Once inside, she puts down the folders on her desk and turns to the entrance of the office where he is standing with the door shut behind him.

"What's going on?"

Straight to the point, as usual.

He doesn't even try to pretend he doesn't know what she's talking about. "I told you, I'm keeping her company." Booth shrugs vaguely with his shoulders. "You know, making sure she eats and goes home. _The_ _usual_."

"You need to stop, Seeley. I really thought Angela had made herself clear earlier today," Cam tells him, running rapidly out of patience. The last thing she wants is for the squint squad to kill Booth and get rid of his body due to their loyalty to Brennan. "It's late. You should be home, with Hannah," she adds, making emphasis on the name of the blonde. "I'll make sure Dr. Brennan leaves the lab with me, promise."

"Hannah is... out of town," the agent admits, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He's not lying, not really. He's just leaving some things unspoken.

She shakes her head. "You're not helping your case, G-man. Listen, I'm going to examine the remains and then I'll leave, and I _will_ take Dr. Brennan with me. Now, _go home_," she orders him, grabbing the folders and heading to the door.

"Wait, Cam," he stops her. After all, he's going to have to tell her sooner or later. However, that thought doesn't make it any easier, since he's fully aware of the 'I told you' glares he's going to have to deal with once she knows the truth. "I... Hannah and I... you see, the thing is–"

"Seeley, are you okay?" the pathologist asks him, walking over to him when she catches his hesitation. "Is everything alright with Hannah?"

"Yeah, yeah. She's in New York now, and I..." He sucks in a breath. This is it. "We broke up, Camille. And yes, I'm fine," he's quick to add when he sees her gasping in surprise.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, fou–

"You're still in love with Dr. Brennan."

It's not a question, it's a statement. He doesn't say anything nor nod his head, but simply looks at her with guilty eyes.

"God, Seeley, what _is it_ with you two?" she asks him, rubbing her temples.

"Hey, don't ask me," Booth shrugs with a sad smile. "Trust me, I wish I knew."

Cam gives him a severe look. "What are you planning to do?"

"What, do I need a plan?" Booth scoffs. Why is he even asking, of course he needs a plan. Regain her trust, that's still the goal.

"She's... with someone else now," she states, careful not to hurt her friend, but knowing it's an impossible task when the words she's uttering are the last ones he wants to hear right now.

"Again, thanks for the news bulletin, Cam, but I pretty much figured that one out when I saw her _kissing_ that someone else," he snaps.

"She hasn't...she hasn't told you yet, has she?" she asks him, although the answer to her question is quite so obvious. Booth shakes his head slightly in response. "And you haven't told her about Hannah."

He runs a hand through his dark, messy hair. "No, I haven't. I was–I was going to, but... I don't know, Cam. Doesn't seem like such a good idea. Not yet, at least."

"So, what now?" the pathologist asks him, trying to change, not the subject, but the direction of their conversation. She may not agree with both of them hiding things from each other, but there's really not much she can do about it.

"Now, Cam..." Booth trails off and glances to what's beyond the glass walls: his partners office somewhere in the immensity of the lab. "Now I'm going back to her to make sure she doesn't stare at bones until dawn."

"Seeley..." she says in a breath, regretting the pity that ran through her voice as soon as she hears herself.

"She's my _partner_, Camille," he tells her, gazing right into his friend's eyes. "That's all that matters now."

Without saying another word or waiting for a reply, Booth walks out of the office.

* * *

Her arms fly up in exasperation as she enters her office. "You're being needlessly protective. Again!"

"And you're being annoyingly stubborn, as usual!" Booth replies, following her hot on her heels.

It's been a week and a half since his break-up with Hannah, a time in which Booth–without even realizing it–has been paying more and more attention to his partner's work habits, and he definitely does not like what he's seeing. It's like she stepped inside a time machine and decided to go back to their first year of partnership, when all she cared about was bones. Sure, they've had a ridiculously amount of cases lately, but that doesn't mean she has to work herself to death, especially now that they've just closed the most recent case. She walks around her desk, but instead of sitting down on the chair, Brennan lays her hands down on it, supporting herself.

"It's past seven, Booth," she says, trying to calm down but finding it very difficult. It's always the same with him and that's what makes her so furious. "Shouldn't you be home?"

"And miss _this_?" Booth asks sarcastically. "Now, tell me, _why_ would I want that?"

"You're insufferable," she states through clenched teeth.

"Yeah? Well, you're not being so adorable yourself. Now, please, Bones, why won't you quit staring at the dead guy?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "That's my _job_, Booth. I'm a forensic anthropologist."

"Those aren't exactly news, Bones, no need to tell _me_ that," he replies, both his hands resting on his hips. His posture is a defiantly as he's feeling.

"Well, then why are you so surprised that I want to perform my job?" Brennan asks back as she mirrors the change of his body language and folds her arms across her chest.

He can't believe it. He can't believe _her_. "Because it's not _healthy_ to go around without sleep for _forty-two_ hours!" he exclaims, shocked that she even dares to ask that question.

"Actually, forty-_three_," Angela corrects him from the couch, happy to finally get the chance to make her presence acknowledged.

Brennan shoots her a deathly glare. "Ange!" she hisses.

"What? I'm sorry, sweetie, but I'm with Booth on this one," she declares, and lifts herself from the couch to walk over to where the FBI agent is standing. "You need to go home and get some sleep."

"I'm _fine_," Brennan says tiredly, casting angry glances at both her partner and her friend that are now standing right next to each other. "I just need to determinate cause of death."

"No, _we_ need you alive. I'm not leaving without you, Bones, so if you wanna go stare at bones all night, _again_, be my guest. I'll be right there by your side, trying to talk some sense into you," he informs her, doing his best to control the tone of his voice and making it sound much softer.

She gives him a confident grin. Way too confident for his liking. "It's _your_ spare time. You have the right to use it as you please."

"Alright–listen to me, Bones," Booth demands, running out of patience again. "We've had three cases in less than a week, and now that we've closed the last one, you're telling me that you want to keep working on this guy that's been dead for what, _two hundred years_?"

"Two hundred and fourteen years. And yes, that's correct."

"Ange!" he turns to the artist with a desperate look on his face. "A little bit of help here?"

"Sweetie, please?" Angela begs her. "Look, I've got the facial reconstruction you asked me to do, see?" she says holding up a finished sketch. "I'll run it through the system tomorrow, but right now you need some sleep."

Realizing that neither Angela or Booth are going to let her have this one, Brennan lets out a frustrated sigh and lowers both her arms.

"Fine," she gives up, reaching for her bag and coat.

Booth grins widely. "Great!" he exclaims. "I'll take you home."

"That's not necess–"

"I'll take you home," he insists with a tone that tells Brennan that arguing won't be of any help. "Ange, do you need a ride?"

"No, no, you two go ahead," she says with a half-smile. "Jack's still filling the reports, I'll wait for him."

"See you tomorrow, then," Booth says waving good-bye at Angela as his partner does the same, only she does it quicker and starts walking toward the exit, forcing him to almost jog his way to her – but with a smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **I know it's been a couple of days, but I'm back with a new chapter now! I just replied to the reviews so you guys that commented should be getting them soon :) Otherwise, well... This chapter was a bit hard to write, but I can guarantee you that things are gonna start moving forward now and I'm planning some major action, fluff and bickering for the next couple of chapters.

I know that all of you, or at least almost all, are B&B-shipper (as myself!), but I don't wanna put an end to the Sully storyline just like that, I want it to be realistic, or as realistic as it can get. Plus, I feel like he's good for Brennan at the moment and I'm also one of those that don't want B&B jumping into something they're not ready for. . So, patience. And hope. It'll all work out, both in the series and here in the fic.

Again, THANK YOU GUYS for the response, and pleeaseeee don't forget to review 'cause your comments keep me on track :D

**Disclaimer: **Bones' not mine, though I wish it was because hey, it's awesome. Damn you, HH.

–&–

During the whole ride home, she fights the urge to rest her head against the car window and just dive into obliviation. If she does it, she'll fall asleep, and if she falls asleep... then Booth will be right about her being unhealthy and _needing_ sleep. She glances at him from the corner of her eye and lets out a frustrated sigh as her eyes go back to the road. Their conversation went cold as soon as he drove out of the Jeffersonian's parking lot. Again, she doesn't mind silence taking over them, but this feels different for some reason she can't yet figure out. He pulls over in front of her building and turns to look at her, just in time to catch the struggle in her features.

"You alright, Bones?"

Her answer is automatic. "Yes," she says, smiling tiredly. "Thank you for the ride."

"No problem," he assures her and smiles back. "See you tomorrow? We'll do lunch?"

"Sure." Brennan turns to open the car door and get off the SUV, but stops halfway and slams it closed again, going back to her previous position in the seat.

Booth tries to meet her eyes, but all of a sudden she seems to be extremely focused on the back of the car parked in front of the. "Something wrong there, Bones?" he asks carefully.

"Sully is back," she says in a breath, waves of relief washing over her.

She doesn't know why, but saying those words out loud make her–oddly enough–feel better. However, her relief is soon replaced by a strange feeling in the bottom of her stomach; a feeling that starts to make her nearly sick. Why on Earth is it so important for her to tell Booth about this? Finally, and when she notices silence has been speaking for both of them for what feels like an eternity now, she turns to face her partner, whose gaze is no longer aimed at her but at the steering wheel.

He knows where this is going, and that's actually why he chooses not to say anything, at least not until his throat stops clenching and he feels that his voice, now trapped somewhere in between his tonsils and guts, is more than just a thin thread. Staring at both his hands that suddenly hold the steering wheel way tighter, Booth swallows the irony of his situation. For days, he has been waiting for her to say something about her new-found relationship with Sully, and yet, now that the moment has come, he finds himself not wanting to hear about it. At all.

His dark eyes travel to hers. "I know."

Booth is more than aware of the fact that she won't even pay attention to his words. She's only waiting for him to say something, _anything_, so that she can get to the part where the conversation makes sense to him – this, of course, according to _her_ logic. Brennan holds his gaze while he speaks and, just as he thought they would, her lips part as soon as he finishes pronouncing the short sentence.

"Sully and I..." she begins, unsure of how to continue. "We are–"

"I _know_," Booth repeats quickly, choosing to interrupt her so that her 'we are' isn't followed by a 'together' or 'seeing each other' or anything that refers to the fact that Sully gets to be with her; _really_ be with her.

Her lips part again, only now they do it in surprise and no words are flying through them. Booth knows? Since when? How did he find out? If someone at the lab told him... All of a sudden, Brennan feels a strange and strong understanding for Clark and his constant request of not letting their personal lives interfere with work. She used to be that way, she... she used to be able to draw a line between what was work and what was private, even when having Angela, her best friend, working with her. But all that was before _he_ decided to stay with them. Before Booth.

"You _know_?" Brennan asks, shooting a harsh glance at him. "You know that Sully and I are–"

"Yeah," he says, nodding slightly as he cuts her off, again. Booth removes his hands from the wheel and feels incredibly uncomfortable when he notices he doesn't quite know what to do with them. They really have to stop having this sort of conversations in the SUV. "Wh-why are you looking at me like that?" he asks when he catches the glance she's casting at him.

"And you didn't say _anything_?" Brennan asks back, ignoring his question.

"I-I didn't think you would want me to, Bones," he shrugs. "It's your life, I'm happy for you," Booth adds feigning indifference.

"So you found out and decided to _game_ _me_?" she wants to know, refusing to stop the interrogation. Her voice is sharp and her eyes keep staring at him harshly.

"I–it's play, Bones. _Play me_," Booth corrects her, terribly confused. He's not at all sure of what's going on. Is she actually mad at him? "And no, I didn't _play_ you, why would you say that?"

She opens her mouth to argue back, but something stops her. She can't possibly tell him how much she struggled as she tried to find the best way to break the news for him. And what upsets her the most is not even _the_ struggle but the fact that she _did_ struggle. "It's...nothing," she says simply and shakes all the disturbing thoughts away. "I'm sorry," she adds with a much softer voice. "Just forget about it, I... thank you for the ride."

Three seconds and a swift move after, she's out of the car and walking toward her building. Booth watches her with his jaw slightly open in shock, but before she disappears into the building, he's off the car too.

"Woah, Bones, where are you going?" he shouts in her direction, causing her to turn around and face him slowly and with a undecipherable look on her face. "What the hell was that?"

She extends her arms to the sides, shrugging. Fatigue is eating her up. "What do you–what do you want, Booth?" Brennan asks back.

He doesn't answer right away, but lets out a sigh and ducks into the car to turn the engine off and grab his keys. Before his upper-body is back in the cold air, he glances briefly at Brennan through the car window to make sure she's still there, which she–to his immense relief–is.

Shadows from the early night that's making its way through the city seem to be darkening every spot around her, yet they don't seem to be able to _touch_ her. Booth slams the car door as carefully as he can and approaches her with his hands buried in the pockets of his coat.

"Look," he begins, "I get why you're mad and I'm sorry, alright? _I_ _am_," Booth assures her, searching for her eyes and meeting them as she finally stops avoiding his gaze. "I just... I just don't understand why you didn't tell me right away," he says with a soft voice.

Secretly, he hopes that that same softness he's using to speak to her will save him from a slap across the face for crossing _the_ line. She's always been very open about her relationships with other men, including Sully (how could he possibly forget the socks/sex incident?), so there's got to be a reason she didn't went public with this before. In order to find out about that reason, he has to cross the line that somehow has been coming in between them during the last couple of months.

"You said it yourself, Booth, it's _my_ life," she reminds him, looking straight into his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," he says, a bit annoyed that she's throwing his words back at him. "But we're partners, right? And partners share things. It builds–"

"It builds trust," she cuts him off, tiredly. "You said that already."

Booth bursts into an inevitable laugh. "Like six _years_ ago," he says. "How do you–how do you even remember that?"

"I remember everything you say," Brennan blurts out, not realizing the weight of her words until after they're spoken. "I have an excellent memory," she adds with a half-smile before he gets to properly take in her first sentence.

"Yeah. Yeah, you do," he says, dragging the words and holding the gaze for a couple of seconds, at least until an icy breeze wraps both of them and causes her to shiver slightly. Booth palms the back of his neck, unsure of what else to say. "It's, um...it's late."

Brennan nods her head and attempts to turn around but her body refuses to move. It's been so long since it was this easy for them to go from bickering to talking about _anything_ that a small part of her wants to hold on to this moment until there's nothing to hold on to anymore. However, things are different now, and Booth's eyes tell her that he's aware of that too.

"I should..." she trails off, nodding toward the entrance of her building.

"Oh–yeah, sure," Booth is quick to reply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sure, go ahead. Get some sleep."

"Thanks again, Booth. See you–"

"Tomorrow?" he finishes for her, more eagerly than he had expected to.

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Yes, tomorrow," she says before finally turning around and walking through the doors of her building.

* * *

Several hours later, when the lights of the city are shinier than ever and the darkness of the night is about to reach its peak, Brennan wakes up gasping for air. As she sits on the bed and tries to catch her breath, she places her right hand on the left side of her chest and feels how, under the touch, her heart is beating faster than she ever thought it could. After a while, her breathing becomes steadier and her pupils start to adapt to the darkness of the room, and she realizes this is the fourth night in a row that the same nightmare haunts her. However, with every night that passes the details become clearer and the nightmare lasts just a little bit longer, although it never seems to come to an actual end.

Having reached her normal breathing again, she kicks away the blankets and heads for the bathroom where she tries to wash away the images in her head as her hands bring the cold, cold water to her face. It's been months since they haunted her like this – which doesn't mean she has been able to get rid of them completely because most of the time they come once every few weeks, sort of sporadically. But now... Now they're back to the old tempo, and the colors are _so_ vivid and the screams _so_ piercing.

One quart of an hour later, she's sitting inside of a cab that drives along the almost empty streets of Washington DC. It's raining, which she didn't realize before leaving the apartment, so both her hair and clothes are wet. She tries to fix her–due to the rain–heavy bangs so that they're not in the way of her eyelids, and just as she brushes them to the side with her fingers, the cab driver pulls over next to an old building and tells her '_we're here, ma'am' _with a sleepy voice. She thanks him and hands him a few bills before getting off and, as the cab drives away, she looks up to the top of the building, silently wondering if she should really be doing this.

Rationally thinking, whether she decides to go inside or not, she shouldn't be standing on the rain. Not when her clothes are already soaked and specially not since rainy nights only remind her of what happened during those days when her world had turned upside-down and all she could feel were regrets. Rationally thinking... rationally thinking she should be able to deal with all this by herself, and compartmentalize, and realize that neither the screams or the deaths she has been seeing whenever her eyes shut at night are actually real.

The knock on the front door makes its way to the bedroom and wakes him up almost immediately. After all, and though he's always been a light sleeper, lately it feels like even a butterfly dancing above his head could take him away from his sleep. He grabs a dark t-shirt from the pile of clothes crumbled on the small chair next to the bed and throws the t-shirt on as he walks through the hallway. Half a minute after the knock, he opens the door without even asking who's on the other side and finds her standing right in front of him, raindrops running down her face, her eyes darker than he has ever seen them. Neither of them speak at first, but she does takes a step closer and leans her head against the doorway, smiling sadly.

"I can't sleep," she confesses, shrugging slightly with her shoulders as if trying not to make such a big deal of it.

"It's okay," Sully answers, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close to him, only to wrap his arms around her and kiss her forehead softly. "It's alright, B. Shh. It's okay," he whispers against her hair.

Rationally thinking, there may not be a way to stop the nightmares, but that doesn't mean she has to be alone tonight.

* * *

It's only a couple of days after Brennan broke the news for him that he bumps into Sully and is forced to actually do more than nod acknowledging the presence of his colleague. It's lunch time and he's on his way to the diner where he is supposed to meet Cam when the elevator stops on the floor under Booth's and Sully steps in with Agent Perotta. Both nod in a way of greeting Booth and turn around to face the elevator door as Perotta returns to the argument they were having before the doors opened.

"We _don't_ have jurisdiction, Sully," she says with a tired tone of voice. "The Navy does. It's not our case anymore."

"But they're gonna blow the cover up, Payton," Sully points out. "You know I'm right."

"So be it," Perotta tells him, tilting her head slightly to the left so she can look at him. "There's nothing the FBI can do anymore."

"What about the boys, huh?" the agent demands to know. "What's gonna happen to them?"

She gives him a severe look. "They're witnesses. "We need them."

"No, Payton, they're just _kids_," Sully corrects her. "Look, put me on the stand," he adds pointing at himself. "I'll testify."

"Based on _what_?" the blonde scoffs. "You have no grounds, no evidence, no nothing."

"I'll get everything I need in time. Just give me a couple of days," he begs extending his arms to the sides, but his colleague doesn't answer. "Those kids are afraid, Payton. I can take care of this. Just trust me, _please_."

"Fine," Perotta gives up. "I'll talk to Cullen. But in case he agrees, which I highly doubt, but in case he does..." she says as the elevator doors open and she steps out, turning around to face him. "You'll have some payback to do."

Sully grins. "Looking forward to it," he calls out gladly as the elevator doors close.

Booth has been paying attention to every word the agents have exchanged and he's already planning how to look deeper into some things Sully said when the agent himself turns to face him.

"Booth," he says with another nod.

"Sully," the former gambler replies mirroring his gesture. "Good to see you."

"Really?" Sully asks, still with a smile on his lips, as if he enjoys the tension between them. "Didn't seem like it when you avoided me yesterday. And the day before that. Oh, _and_ last week."

He's already on edge, and has been for weeks, so it doesn't take much for Booth to snap. "Funny. That's funny," he says sarcastically. "You still into that whole sail into the sunset crap?" he asks with an arrogant grin.

"I don't know," Sully shrugs, cocky as well. "You tell me – you still got the hots for your partner?"

"And now you're just being _hilarious_," Booth laughs, but his expression changes into a serious one as soon as his eyes meet Sully's. Before the elevator gets to the next floor, he pushes the button that says 'STOP' and after two large steps, he's back facing his colleague. "Listen to me, Sullivan, and listen carefully 'cause I'm not saying this twice," he warns him, holding up his forefinger and waving it in front of him. "You hurt her again and you'll have to respond to _me_, alright? I let it pass last time but don't think for a second that you'll have the same luck again."

"Oh, really?" Sully asks as he turns to face the doors again.

"Yeah, _really_," he replies through clenched teeth.

"Then consider me warned, G-man," he says, the previous sarcasm now gone from his voice. "Although, if I were you, I'd take a look at myself before speaking about breaking her heart."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Booth scoffs, his fist by his side, clenching so hard it's nearly turning white. He's raging.

Sully's expression becomes softer, almost sad. "You think so? 'Cause the way I see it I know just enough."

"What did she tell you?" he barks, although he's not completely sure he wants an answer.

"_Nothing_," he's quick to clarify in an attempt to defend Brennan. "At least not out loud. But then again, you know those pale blue eyes of hers?" Sully asks as he stretches out to push the 'STOP' button. The elevator comes back to life right away and he turns to face Booth again. "They speak volumes. You messed up, man, you messed up bad. And if you had had the decency to look at those same eyes during the last couple of months, like _really_ look into them, you would know that already."

"You better not–"

The elevator doors open. "Consider me warned, Booth. But consider yourself warned as well," Sully states as he steps out of the elevator. "See you around."

The doors close, and Booth is left all alone.

Without even an attempt from his side to stop it, Booth's fist–now completely white–hits a spot on the wall right above the buttons, causing the elevator to shake and his knuckles to turn red. He grabs his cellphone and dials Cam's number quickly, holding the phone firmly against his ear as he waits for her to pick up.

"Yeah, Cam?" he begins when her cheery voice greets him from the other side of the line. "What? No, no, not a case. But let's not talk about it 'cause our luck might change any minute... you, about lunch? Yeah, thing is, something came up and I have to take care of it, but drinks later?... Sure, Founding Fathers at eight... No, I won't be late... Yes, I'll leave the car at home... What are you, my mo–don't call me Seeley. Right. Okay, great, see you later. Bye."

After hanging up with a smile and shoving the phone back to his pocket, he pushes the button that will take him back to his floor and office. He has a drinks date with one of his oldest friends in a few hours and by then he must be done with not only paperwork, but also with some personal research.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **Hey there, I'm back again! And sooner than I had expected too, isn't that just plain wonderful? Lol. Alright people, here's the new chapter, and it's a rather long one –at least for me. Plus, two characters make a quick comeback. _Oh my, which ones?_, you're probably wondering. Well, keep reading and you'll find out ;D

One more thing, somebody (who's name I can't remember *slaps herself*) reviewed and said that I should get rid of Sully already, and that's pretty much the only opinion I've gotten about that matter lol, so I'm gonna need more votes on this one... Thing is, as I said before, I already have pretty much everything planned in my head, so the question is: do you want me to speed things up or are you enjoying the ride so far?

I would _really_ appreciate it if you guys let me know what you think. But I'll leave you to read first; enjoy and review please! :) Oh, and eat your vegetables.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones in the real world, but every time I go to Hogwarts I magically become Hart Hanson. Weird, huh?

–&–

During the last couple of weeks, Booth has been trying to do everything in his power to take not only his partnership with Brennan, but his relationship with the whole squint squad, back to a more familiar place. He has been stopping by the lab more often and not once has he let go of the opportunity of teasing the squinterns even if it means having to deal with death glares from Cam – with whom he's been having some quite interesting chats over drinks at the Founding Fathers. Hell, he has even exchanged words with Hodgins that are not case-related and–_no, his mind isn't playing tricks with him_–Angela even went as far as innocently flirting back when he tried to hurry her with the address of a crime scene by complimenting her 'amazing skills' within technology.

As for Brennan... Well, with Brennan, it's like they're back to their old dynamic, the one where they have each other's back unconditionally while dealing with suspects and inside the interrogation room and where both of them arguing in the car or ordering some take-away while finishing paperwork are things that are on the menu of the day almost every day. He usually picks her up with fresh coffee in the morning and takes her home in the evening – the key word being _usually,_ since it has happened that she tells him, most of the times in a quite awkward way, things like 'I'll meet you at the crime scene' or 'It's okay, I have my car'.

When words like those have escaped her lips and reached his senses, he never says anything else but tries to change the subject as fast as he can. He never asks any questions about her relationship with Sully since it would only open the door for her to start asking back about his relationship with Hannah – and he's been putting way to much effort in trying to make everyone but Cam and Sweets think that the blonde is only away on a big assignment to have Brennan blow everything up.

However, with every day that passes by and every look he receives from Sweets whenever the young psychologist tries to bring up the subject only to be waved off by Booth, he begins to question his reasons for hiding the truth from his friends in the first place.

Finally, and after some pensive evenings at the shooting range and a couple of nearly sleepless nights, he realizes he needs to discuss this with someone that still possesses the ability to be somehow objective when it comes to his partnership with Brennan. Or at least, someone that has been able to see through him in the past, that helped him with this matter last time.

That's why, one Sunday evening and after he has driven Parker back to Rebecca, Booth decides to drive to the left part of town and to a house where he, four years ago, was pretty much forced to build a grill for his shrink.

Gordon Gordon opens the door with a genuine smile and invites him in, offering some tea as Booth follows him to the kitchen. The house looks quite the same, and if it weren't so cold, the agent knows they would be sitting outside. After a couple of minutes of small talk, the chef hands Booth his cup of tea – a clear sign that he can now begin to talk about the real reason that brings him there. And so he does. Trying to be as precise as possible, he tells Wyatt about everything that has happened since their last talk. As he speaks, he notices that–probably due to his talk with Hannah a couple of weeks ago–the order of the events is quite fresh and clear in his memory, which he assumes makes it easier for the chef to understand.

However, and despite the expectant look the agent gives him as he goes quiet, Wyatt just sits there...thinking. His already on edge, though, so Booth doesn't wait too long before he tries again.

"Look–I'm sorry I showed up without calling or anything, but fact is... I didn't know who else to go to."

Wyatt takes a large sip of his tea. "Agent Booth," he says calmly. "Do you happen to remember the piece of advice I offered you last time we discussed this matter?"

Booth feels an invisible kick on his gut as he remembers the words uttered long ago at Gordon's restaurant. "You... You said I should have patience." Involuntarily, he gulps, his Adam's apple traveling up and down. "I guess I wasn't listening."

"I told you to be hopeful, too," the chef reminds him with a warm smile. He grabs the tea pot and quirks an eyebrow at Booth. "More tea?"

An automatically nod from the agent's side gives Wyatt the 'go' to pour some more of the warmth drink into his cup. Booth has to admit though, that he has never been very fond of tea. However, he is in Wyatt's home and if the chef wants some, he'll have it to. If he thinks about it, the first cup even tasted good. Not as good as coffee, of course, because coffee is irreplaceable and there's really nothing like feeling the caffeine running through your body early in the morning – but right now, he has to adapt and settle for second best. Isn't adapt basically the same as adjust? In that case, why on Earth is the word haunting him like that? _I'll adjust_, she had said while sitting in his car with tears streaming down her face. _I did_, he'd answered. But had he, really, adjusted? If he thought about it, wasn't Hannah more like the tea he was now drinking, mostly in an attempt to adapt himself to a strange situation–like having to move on and being away from Brennan–, something that tasted good probably just because it was different?

Without even noticing that at the same time these thoughts fly through his head, he's also being studied by Wyatt, he gently pushes the tea cup away from him and looks up to the chef with wide eyes.

A heartbeat passes, and then–

"I'm in love with her."

There's something both satisfying and immensely terrifying about saying those words out loud for the first time, as if it is a relief and a curse – all at once. What the sentence really means and its power seem to take over the whole room in form of silence and incertitude.

"I can't... I _shouldn't_ love her," Booth adds when there's no answer from Wyatt's side to come to the rescue.

The chef leans back on his chair and crosses his arms with a half-smile on his lips. "Ah, Agent Booth. You haven't been listening at all, have you? The heart chooses what it chooses."

He lets out a groan. "She's with someone else."

"So were you, isn't that correct? Yet your feelings for Temperance Brennan seem to have become stronger instead of the opposite."

Booth eyes gain a strange, refreshing spark and he chooses his words carefully before uttering his next question. "Do you think she loves me?"

"What do _you_ think?" Wyatt asks pointing at him.

"Wha–No, no. Come on, don't throw the questions back at me in that shrinky manner," Booth complains as he waves toward the older man.

"But Agent Booth, have you forgotten once again? I am a chef now. Nothing _shrinky_ about that."

Booth crosses his arms and blows out a loud breath. "You haven't told me anything helpful, you know?"

"That may be true," Wyatt admits and lets his upper body lean closer to the kitchen table as a confident smile takes over his features. "But then again, you thought you were paying attention last time as well."

* * *

The lack of stress at the Jeffersonian is proof enough of their case-less day, and the only noises filling the lab are footsteps and the almost inaudible chattering between Angela, Hodgins and Wendell outside of the first's office.

"...I don't know. I mean, I'm not a fan of those kind of events either," the grad student says in a low voice and does an uncomfortable grimace. "But going against her wishes? Doesn't seem like such a good idea to me."

"Speaking of which..." Hodgins whispers as the sound of high-heels footstep's echoes closer and closer.

It's obvious that Cam is more delighted to see them than vice-versa. "Good! You're still here," she exclaims and approaches the group. "The FBI is getting on my nerves about the ceremony slash party thing, so you all better sign those invitations and hand them to me so I can send them back before somebody ends up getting strangled. And I don't mean myself."

"Except..." the bug man says as he raises his right hand, "I'm not going."

"Oh, neither am I," Wendell adds quickly.

"I have this baby... thing," Angela tilts her head and puts on her most innocent, soft smile.

Brennan gets to them before Cam has the chance to speak. "What is going on?" she asks as she struggles with a bunch of light brown folders.

"Sweetie, where have you been all day?"

"The bone storage," she replies as if her answer is obvious, and therefore, Angela's question unnecessary. "Do we have a case?"

"No, but this _does_ involve a whole lot of FBI agents."

Despite Angela's amused smirk and shiny eyes, Brennan doesn't seem to get what she's talking about and stares, first at her and then at the rest of the gang, silently begging for an explanation.

Angela blows out a sigh. "The FBI's annual party, sweetie? Apparently, all members of the consultant team have to go, even the squinterns," she throws a brief nod at Wendell.

"Oh," Brennan smiles as she puts the pieces together. "Yes, I saw the invitation on my desk. I'll have to check my schedule, so I can't assure you that I'll be free."

"No. No, no, _no_,"" Cam protests with wide, wide eyes. _"_You are _all_ going – and you want to know why?"

They all exchange glances. "Why?" they ask in chorus.

"'Cause I'm your boss, that's why," she says with a confident grin and turns to Hodgins. "I want _you_ in the shiniest tuxedo you can find. And you," she point to Wendell, "let grow a beard – makes you look older. We don't want the cocky agents making fun of your age, do we? As for you," she continues, facing Angela, "No more using the baby as an excuse. If Hodgins is going–which he _is_–then you're going too. And _you,_" Cam turns to the last one of her employees: Brennan, who's raising a challenging eyebrow at her, "You... are giving me that intimidating look in hope that I'll back off, but I won't. Dr. Brennan, you are going to the party as well."

"You can't force me," Brennan declares with a matter-of-fact tone.

"But I can take your get-out-of-jail cards away if you don't do as I say."

"That's highly unfair!" the anthropologist jumps. "And _very_ unwise. The freebies are part of a previous arrangement. Using them to blackmail me now would only complicate our working relationship."

Cam's smile gets wider. "As I said, Dr. Brennan... I'm the boss," she repeats, putting a sharp end to the discussion and making a move to walk away from them.

"Wait," Wendell interjects, "if it's black tie, does that mean we need a date?"

"Yup," the pathologist replies looking over her shoulder as she heads to her office. "And hurry up, Mr. Bray, you have until next Friday," she adds with a smile of victory that none of them can see, and disappears from their sight.

Brennan leaves the group without saying another word and heads to her office with Angela following her hot on her heels. The artist closes the door behind her and goes to sit in front of her friend's desk.

"So, are you going?"

She shrugs distractedly. "I suppose I have to. Are you?"

"If she managed to convince you, I'm pretty sure the rest of us don't stand a chance against her evil bossy powers," Angela scoffs, and stares then at her friend as she types something in her laptop. After a moment, she decides to go with the next question and the actual reason she followed Brennan to her office in the first place. "Everything alright, sweetie? You seem a little distant."

Brennan's eyes wander from the screen to her best friend. "I'm... I'm just worried about Booth."

"Booth?" Angela echoes and shifts position in the chair. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure," she says, dragging the words as she frowns. "I just feel like something has changed but I can't figure out what."

"Well, he _has_ been spending a lot of time here, and he hadn't done that since before we went away." The artist lets out a brief laugh as a memory from a few days ago comes back to her. "He even threatened to shoot Jack the other day, and that's really like traveling back in time."

Brennan simply shakes her head and looks back down at the screen. "It's scientifically impossible to go back in time. Evolution is a constant process."

She gives her a look. "You know what I mean, sweetie. Anyway, wouldn't it be easier to just ask him?"

"I thought about it," the anthropologist admits, her eyes meeting her friend's. She bits her bottom lip. "It doesn't feel appropriate, Ange."

"You know, sweetie," Angela begins as she lifts herself–and the baby–from the seat. "For a person that claims that going by one's gut isn't the best thing to do, you sure are paying alot of attention to yours."

"I don't know what that means."

She fights back the urge to say anything else, and simply lets a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Exactly."

* * *

As if they needed anything else to add to the current tension between them, the silence inside of Sweets' office is making it pretty easy for said tension to gain levels by the second. Brennan is sitting on her side of the couch with her arms folded and Booth is sitting on the other side, his hands joined as he plays distractedly with his thumbs. He will never admit it, but there is something nostalgic and sort of exquisite about being, once again, forced to sit in the young psychologist's office with _her_. After a couple of minutes, she is the one who breaks the ice.

"I'm sorry but I don't understand why we are forced to do this, _again_."

Sweets lets out a sigh. "As I explained before, Dr. Brennan, the FBI is having concerns about your partnership."

She nods her head politely. "You did say that, although you failed to explain why."

"Because you didn't let him finish, Bones," the agent whispers as he shoots her a look.

"Well, he wasn't getting to the point, Booth," she complains, turning to look at her partner as well. "Besides, you're the one that started the session by telling him that he may not be twelve, but you're still not going to listen to him."

"Hey!" Booth jumps. "You thought that was funny. And I bet you won't be paying attention either."

"I don't believe in psychotherapy. It's different."

"It still means you won't listen."

"No, it means I will listen and probably disagree."

"Yeah, but–"

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth," Sweets intervenes before it ends with both of them bickering their way out of the office. "Your situations are no longer the same as they were before your departures. The FBI just wants to make sure that you can still work together."

Brennan rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Booth and I are _fine_."

"Yeah, c'mon Sweets. You know we can do the job." He straightens himself in the couch. "We've been doing it since day one after we came back and that was months ago."

"Yes, but things have changed within the private aspects of your lives as well," Sweets points out. "For example, Dr. Brennan is now in a romantic relationship."

"So is Booth," Brennan reminds him quickly, a sick feeling suddenly growing in her stomach.

He shoots the psychologist a quick glance. "Yeah, right Sweets?" he says, making emphasis on every word.

Sweets picks up the vibe soon after catching the look on the agent's face and clears his throat nervously. "Oh, yes, yes. Agent Booth is also in a relationship, of course. With, um–"

"With Hannah," Booth finishes the sentence nodding. Good Lord, he's really trying his best not to walk over to the young psychologist and shake some acting skills into him.

"Yes, Hannah. Of course."

If this had happened a year ago, Brennan may have not picked up on the fact that something's going on between the two men. She would most probably have been as oblivious as she'd always been. But this isn't a year ago. This is _now_, and something is _definitely_ wrong. However, she decides to put it under her hat for now since there is another issue that requires her attention at the moment.

"I still fail to understand how that affects our partnership," she says.

Before answering, Sweets takes a moment to put some order in his thoughts. "This new relationship–I mean, _relationships_ you currently find yourselves in are, whether you want it or not, a threat to the surrogate relationship you had been building up up until last year. That bond you had made it difficult for others to enter the picture, and it worked _almost_ perfectly for you until you both left."

Almost perfectly. The partners cast a glance at each other as soon as Sweets goes quiet. They both know _when_ the bond stopped working so damn perfectly, and, ironically enough, it was after they had their first non-forced-in-any-way session with Sweets inside the same office they're sitting in now.

It was the day they told him about their first case. They day he gambled; the day she said no.

"However," Sweets continues, causing the partners to leave each other's eyes and focus on him instead, "this surrogate relationship no longer applies since there are, in fact, other people in your lives now."

Brennan glances at Booth again. "What does that mean?" she wants to know, completely ignoring the psychologist's presence.

_Of course she wants it thoroughly explained_, Booth thinks, and fights back a grin. "I think it means he doesn't think we can work together as well as we did before because I," and this is the part where he lies right to her face, "have Hannah and you..." He swallows with difficulty. "You are with Sully."

Both hold the gaze intensely for a couple of seconds – Brennan taking in his words and Booth trying to remember how long it was since they allowed themselves to have one of _these_ moments in front of anyone else. Or, to put it in Sully's words, how long it was since he _really_ looked into those eyes of hers. It certainly is like looking through a telescope and having front row seats to the galaxy.

"That...doesn't make sense," she says and breaks the gaze for a fraction, only to look up to her partner again, as if she can't help it. The intensity is gone, but his eyes are still pretty focused on hers, and she feels a wave of warmth wash over her.

"It's ridiculous," Booth agrees.

She nods her head. "Absolutely."

"Right?" he asks, and they both turn to look at the third person in the room that had been, for a moment, forgotten.

Sweets has a look on his face that they haven't seen in a long, long time – a look they only catch briefly, since the moment their heads snap back to him, he starts to write things down on his pad.

"What–what are you writing there?" Booth demands to know as he tries to stretch his neck so he can take a better look at the psychologist's notes.

His attempts are in vain, though, because Sweets quickly closes the pad and looks up to the partners again.

"One session every week," he tells them with a smile as he crosses his legs. "Just like before, nothing has to change."

Once again, the partners glance at each other before saying anything.

"You just said that things had changed," Brennan states confused.

"What if we refuse?" the agent asks. He's convinced that these sessions and Sweets' Zone of Truth will only make it harder for him to keep his feelings hidden, just like last time.

"But you can't... you can't refuse," Sweets tells him, looking puzzled. "Agent Booth, Deputy Director Hacker _will_ severe your partnership if you don't follow the rules. You know that."

"I happen to know that Andrew is very well aware of the fact that I won't work with _anyone_ but Booth," Brennan blurts out the second the threaten to her partnership with the former sniper is out in the air.

Booth's chest suddenly fills, not only with air from the deep breath he takes, but also with pride. Now that Brennan is back with Sully, the thought of her choosing to work with the other agent instead of him has actually crossed his mind more than once. After all, Sully was once his replacement and even though Brennan has–in the past–told him something about her only wanting to work with him, this feels different. This is she telling _others, _like Hacker according to her words and now Sweets.

"Really?"

"Of course," she answers, looking genuinely confused. Why would he ever doubt her?

Sweets shakes his head in impatience. He can't afford to deviate from the topic again. "Come on, guys. I'm only doing my job. One session per week until we are able to resolve the issues lying underneath," he gestures a circle around the partners and gives the agent a particular look.

"Issues?" Booth asks, raising an eyebrow.

She scoffs. "We don't have issues."

"Guys..."

"No, you know what, Bones? I actually have an issue."

"You do?" Brennan and Sweets ask in chorus, the latter expecting some kind of revelation from the agent's side.

"Yeah. I'm _starving_."

"Because it's past seven and you have usually already eaten by now," the anthropologist exclaims, her hand falling casually to rest on his arm.

Booth's gaze drops to the spot on his arm where her hand is laying and then it goes up to her eyes again. "Wanna grab a bite?" he asks with a smile as he pushes himself off the couch.

"The session isn't over," Sweets jumps. "We're not–"

"Actually," Brennan cuts him off and stands up as well, "I find that I'm also quite hungry."

"That's a yes?" the agent asks, his chocolate eyes sparkling.

She gives him a smile. "Sure."

"But..." the psychologist begins raising his forefinger as Booth helps Brennan to put on her coat. "But it's only been half an hour."

"Thanks for everything, Sweets," Booth tells him and heads to the door.

Hoping to do it as casually as she had laid her hand on his arm, he places his palm on the small of her back and steers her through the doorway.

"See you next week," Brennan says over her shoulder.

"Does that mean that you agree to the sessions?" Sweets shouts after them as the partners leave, his only answer being the sound of the door shutting. He collapses on his seat again and tosses the pad on the table. "Do they _always_ have to do that?"

* * *

Maybe she doesn't get paid for writing her novel during work hours, but she has a deadline next week and Hodgins is still working on the clothing of the victim, and the bones are being cleaned by Clark and... she's stuck. Writer's block, as Angela would say, and laugh after, because she always finds it amusing when the anthropologist starts to panic.

So there she sits in her office, trying to find the best way for Kathy and Andy to repair their–nowadays–quite rocky relationship. Somehow, she doesn't feel that writing in some make-up sex will be the solution this time, not even if they give another shot to the thing on page 187 from her last book. A smile forms on her lips as she remembers the way Hodgins had been bragging about that 'trick' for weeks after reading the book and how Angela had just rolled her eyes at his cocky comments.

She has just forced herself to start typing when there's a knock on her doorframe. Bad timing is, as usual, getting in her way. She lets out a small sigh and doesn't even bother to look up.

"Mr. Edison, I hope you're here with the results and not due to another question to which you are expected to know the answer."

"I'm... not Mr. Edison, but I guess he's not doing a very good job, is he?" a familiar voice asks along with a brief, amused laugh.

Brennan's eyes snap to the door. "Hannah," she says with a genuine smile.

Whatever feelings her relationship with Booth has woken up on her, she's always known that it's absolutely not Hannah's fault. Besides, she can't deny the odd affinity between them both.

"I thought you were out of town on a big assignment," she says as she stands up from her chair.

"I was. Or I am, actually," Hannah corrects herself with a smile. "I just got back this morning, but I'm leaving early tomorrow."

The smile vanishes from her lips. "Oh," she murmurs. "Does Booth know you are leaving so soon?"

"Yeah, of course he knows," Hannah says, and buries her hands on the pockets of her jeans. "Actually, I'm meeting him for lunch now."

Her stomach drops, but she ignores it. "Oh, okay. How long will you be gone?"

The prolonged absence of the blonde in Booth's daily life is the only thing she can think as an excuse for her partner's reluctance to talk about her – perhaps he misses her so much that talking about it only makes it worse for him. Just the other day when they were having dinner at the Royal Dinner after leaving Sweets' office and she had asked him about Hannah, Booth had been evasive and answered mostly in monosyllables.

"I haven't been told yet, which is why I thought it would be a good idea to stop by and say goodbye," Hannah answers tilting her head. "Believe it or not, I am going to miss you all."

Brennan frowns, utterly confused. "I don't... I don't understand. Why does your tone and choice of words suggest that we won't see you again?"

"Well, it could be months before I–_Wait_." And that's when it hits her. She should have figured it out sooner with Brennan asking her so much about Booth's opinion and how long she would be gone. The blonde looks down, cursing under her breath. "God, Seeley," she mutters to herself. What part of 'tell her you love her' didn't he understand?

"Is everything alright?" Brennan asks as she makes her way to Hannah.

"I'm so sorry, Temperance," she says looking up to the scientist.

"You're sorry? For what?"

"Because I'm not the one that should be telling you this," the blonde says carefully, and blows out a breath before continuing. "Seeley and I broke up."

Though she, as a scientist, is aware of the odds and improbabilities, Brennan feels the beat of her heart accelerating at what would most likely feel like the speed of light, only to stop for a fraction and return to its normal rhythm after a couple of seconds. She takes a deep breath, deeper than she had intended, and when she opens her mouth to speak, she notices her lips are suddenly dry.

"You–you did?" she asks at last.

Hannah nods. "Weeks ago, actually."

"He didn't..." She blinks, still puzzled. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Why are _you_ sorry?" the journalist wants to know, feeling a mix between amusement and discomfort.

"Because Booth loves you," Brennan says sincerely, and pushes aside the feeling of her throat clenching.

Hannah's expression transforms as she realizes what a lousy job her ex-boyfriend has been doing since their break-up. However, this is something that's definitely not up to her to enlighten Brennan about.

"Oh, Temperance," she sighs and looks down to her watch. "I... I have to go. I'm sorry–I'm really sorry we didn't get to talk more. Would you say bye to the rest for me?"

Brennan gives her a warm smile. "Of course."

"Great. I'll... I'll see you around, then," the blonde says with a smile and turns around to leave.

The anthropologist steps forward. "Wait, Hannah?"

She stops by the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Please, be careful," Brennan begs her with genuine concern flying across her eyes.

"I can't promise anything, but I'll try," Hannah says with a smile. "Take care of him, alright?"

She doesn't answer, but nods her head and watches the blonde leave her office and the lab in silence. All of a sudden, everything makes so much more sense.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note:** Soo, I was kind of inspired today and decided to go with the next chapter. Sadly, this one is pretty short, but after I wrote this two scenes, my muse sort of ran away and I really felt like just posting the chapter instead of waiting for the muse to come back. Besides, it's better than nothing, right? ;) About the Sully thing, I got two votes in favor and one against – which, in addition to the other vote against, makes two. So, two-two so far. You're welcome to keep voting, of course, lol. Enjoy! And review. And don't go to bed at 3am, it's bad for your system. Oh, oh. And let me know if there are some spelling mistakes 'cause I really didn't get a chance to read through the chapter properly.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones. Wait, I'm gonna go check again. Nope, still not the owner.

–&–

"Seeley Booth, you _damn_ coward."

Perplexed, he watches the blonde slide into the seat across him. "What–Hannah, _what the hell_?" Booth demands to know as he looks around him and notices how a few people, including the waitresses, are staring at them.

"You didn't tell her?" she asks, her voice raising. "It's been _weeks_, Seeley, I mean how–how did you even _manage_ to hide the truth from her? From _everybody_? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Booth's expression has been changing from angry to extremely guilty with every word that his ex-girlfriend has shouted at him. "I don't–"

She scoffs and waves him off. "_Don't_ say that you don't know. I went to see her for God's sake! I thought that by now you would have done something, _anything_, to fix your relationship with her but instead I find out that you've been lying to her."

He fights back the urge to raise his voice as well. "You _talked_ to her?" Booth asks as he straightens himself on the chair.

"Of course I did! I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow and–believe it or not–she's actually part of the tiny group of people I wanted to say good-bye to. Instead, you leave it up to me to enlighten her about what a jerk you've been. Do you have _any_ idea of the situation you put me in to?"

Booth throws his napkin on the table. "You shouldn't have told her," he declares through clenched teeth.

"And what, wait for you to come clean? I'm pretty sure you had the chance to do that. She has the right to know."

"But–"

"She thinks you love _me_," Hannah cuts him off, placing both her hands on her chest. "During our whole conversation, and even before I figured out that she didn't know anything about our break-up–and trust me, it took me a while–you were her only concern."

His eyes gain a wishful spark. "I was?"

Hannah smacks him on the arm. "Ugh, you don't deserve her. Or me, for that matter."

"Bones found someone else, all right?" He can feel his patience getting shorter by the second. "She's–she's moved on."

She's a bit taken aback, but manages to quickly pull herself together. "So?" she asks lifting an eyebrow as she leans back on the chair.

"What do you mean 'so'?" he snaps.

"You could have told her the truth anyway."

He lets out a sigh. "I was going to," Booth says with a sad smile, and when he catches the look Hannah is giving him, he adds, "I _was_, okay? But then I found out about her and Sully and I just... It didn't seem like such a good–"

"Stop," Hannah holds up her hand. "Don't come with excuses." She leans closer to the edge of the table, and adds in a murmur, "This isn't you, Seeley. Going around and lying for your friends? For her?"

"I know," Booth admits, guilt burning inside of him.

"Then _fix_ this," she demands, crossing her arms.

He groans. "Dammit, Hannah, what do you want me to do?"

"I think I already helped you a lot," she says, looking into his eyes. "Time for you to figure things out by your own."

Booth tilts his head and considers her for a fraction. "Why are you doing this?"

She smiles. "Because."

"Because what?"

"I care about you," Hannah shrugs. "And I actually care about her too. I'm not gonna let you screw everything up twice."

"Hannah..."

"Don't do that." She looks away. "Don't say you're sorry again."

"But I am."

Her eyes wander back to him. "And I know you are, so that's enough for me. We don't have to go through that thing where we meet and then it all turns into an episode of The Oprah Show."

He laughs at her comment and nods toward her watch. "How much time do you have?"

"Forty-two minutes," she informs him after looking down to her wrist and checking the time. "Fancy some pie?" she asks him with a smile and calls the waitress with a wave of her hand.

* * *

"Bones..." he trails off.

Viciously, and without even glancing at him, she pushes the button to call for the elevator. "Go away, Booth."

It's been about two hours since he got back from his lunch with Hannah, and up until ten minutes ago he had been thinking of the best way to start the conversation with Brennan once he went by her office after work. Multiple scenarios had rushed through his mind; and she was as mad in the first once as she was in the last one. However, Brennan had saved him both the drive to the lab and having to figure out a way to start the conversation when she'd showed up at his office with the results of the particulates Hodgins had finished analyzing.

She'd been _painfully_ clinical as she spoke to him. Never looked him in the eyes, never said anything about what Hannah had told her. It was a monologue from her side, really – and a very short one too. Once she informed him about everything he needed to know to get a warrant and search the suspect's house, she spun around and left the office. That's when he decided to follow her, calling her name–or nickname–through his floor's hallway, only to be ignored by her and glared by other agents.

"Please, Bones," Booth begs her with two pleading eyes that she can't see since her eyes are fixed on the–still closed–elevator doors. "Just–Let's go back to my office so that I can explain everything to you."

"That's not necessary," she tells him coolly.

"It is,_ it is_," he insists, nodding. "Please – will you just look at me for a second?"

And she does. She shoots him the most deathly glance he's ever received from her, a glare that's even more harsh than the ones she gave him both times she struck him in the past. No need for physical violence when she's got those burning eyes.

"You lied to me," she says sharply, and pushes the button again. What is it with this elevator that, the more you call after it, the longer it takes for it to arrive?

Booth swallows with difficulty. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I know you had Sweets lie to me, too," she tells him, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"I–I don't... Bones, please, can we go back to my office and talk about this?"

At last, the elevator arrives and its doors open widely. A couple of agents step out of it before Brennan gets in. Booth follows her awkwardly, and the doors shut, leaving them to have their conversation alone.

"I should have told you. I know I should have. I'm sorry."

"You know what makes my _really_ upset?"

Does he want to know? Maybe, maybe not. Either way he still nods his head vaguely and looks at her with regretful eyes.

"You're making an habit of this," she states, her eyes entirely focused on _not_ meeting his. "Of lying to me. When I told you about Sully, you said you already knew. I'm still not sure of how long you had known, but it still means you lied to me in some way."

"I was–I was waiting for you to tell me!" he says. Which is true – he _was_ waiting for her.

Brennan scoffs and turns to look at him. "Stop it, Booth. I'm your _partner_. Not only have we been constantly working on cases for the past few weeks, but we even had a session with Sweets. You had plenty of chances to tell me about your break-up with Hannah."

He feels a sudden, unexpected rage creeping its way through his throat. "_Yeah_?" he snaps. "Well, you had plenty of chances to tell me about your little romance with Sully as well."

"Don't... Don't do that, Booth," she pleads. "It doesn't concern you."

"Why? Because you decided so?" he insists, not really caring of how uncomfortable everything's getting between them. "I thought we were finally coming clean about everything."

"What–you are the one that lied to my face!" she jumps. "Why are you behaving like this?"

"Because I bet you don't even know _why_ he's back," Booth blurts out in his most cocky tone of voice.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Brennan states with a confident smile, and picks only up on her partner's cocky tone a couple of seconds later.

Her words catch him by surprise, and he feels his stomach drop. "_You_ _do_?"

Blue eyes widen and pink lips part as she figures out the most likely reason for Booth's previous confidence. But it can't be. He wouldn't.

"Did you... You did a background check on him?" she asks, hoping–probably for the first time–that she's wrong.

A sigh escapes his lips. He promised himself, no more lies. "I–I'm... Look, Bones, before you say anyth–"

"So it's true? You ran Sully through the system?" she wants to know. All of a sudden, her cheeks are on fire. Hell, her whole body is on fire. "I can't believe you!"

"Okay, listen, Bones," he begs her. "There's a case, all right, and I had to kn–"

"Stay _out_ of this, Booth!" she says, poking him angrily on the chest. "You have nothing to do with it!"

The elevator doors open at the bottom floor and she steps out, the pace of her walk increasing with every step she takes.

"I'm your partner!" he shouts, and follows her hot on her heels.

She spins around to face him. "And that's where it ends!" Brennan shouts back, not stopping to consider the weight of her words before speaking them out loud.

Booth freezes the same second her sentence reaches his ears. It's not like she's saying something that isn't true; after all, partners is what they've always been. How many times haven't they both made it very clear to others that they're nothing more than that – nothing more than just partners? However, there's something extremely painful about Brennan practically shouting that statement from the rooftops.

They both stand in silence for more or less a couple of seconds, seconds in which she starts to regret the harshness of her words and he clenches his right fist as discretely as he can. Finally, Booth decides to let her know of the reason behind his behavior – in his own way, of course.

"He _left_ you, okay?"

She scowls. "What are you talking about?"

"Four years ago, he left you." His fist is slowly turning white. "Sully left you."

A sad smile tugs at her lips. "He didn't leave me, Booth. I _chose_ to stay. It was entirely my decision. You should know that better than anyone."

"And why is that?"

He is _so_ tempting his fortune with all the questions he keeps throwing back at her. And this time... This time, he is secretly hoping–just as he'd done back then–that something she says will tell him that the reason she stayed was him. He knows he doesn't deserve it, and he knows it's very unlikely. But he hopes anyway.

"Because," she begins in a cracking voice, extending her arms to the sides and letting them fall down again. "Because you were there, Booth."

And then, he sees it. The hurt in her eyes. She's standing right there, just a few meters from him, reminding him of the day he drove to the harbor and watched her stick to one the most difficult decisions she has ever made. It _was_ her choice. She stayed, because it was for the best, just as she turned him down because she thought he needed protection. If that isn't the pure concretization of an open heart, then what is?

It's not until that moment that Booth brings himself to take a look around him and realizes that numerous agents and civilians have gathered around them. Hannah's word bounce inside of his head. Maybe she was right. Maybe he doesn't deserve Brennan. Not if he has managed to do this to their relationship, to her.

He takes a step back.

"I'm _really_ sorry, Bones," he says in a whisper he hopes only she will be able to hear.

As he enters the elevator again and the doors start to close, their eyes meet again. She has the same look on her face that she had over a year ago, when she, wiping away the tears from her cheeks, had asked him '_Can we still work together?_'


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: **Yes, I know I was slow with the update, _again_, but this time I have an excuse, lol. I had spring break last week and was out of the country, so it was pretty difficult to write something then. Anyway, the new chapter is here and even though it's not my best work ever, I like it quite a lot. Also, I've read your reviews and answered to them, so check your e-mails :)

Oh, and point of clarification: the S&B relationship is a fair one. Both know what they're getting in to, well, at least Sully does. So yeah, none of them is taking advantage of the other, they are basically two people that found their way back to each other when they needed it the most. However, that doesn't mean things aren't going to get complicated, because trust me, they will. For those of you who are wondering when Sully will be out of the picture, I can't really promise he will disappear completely according to the storyline I have in mind, but I can assure you that his and Brennan's relationship has just a couple of chapters left.

Enjoy, and review! Your words are the food to my little writer soul.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, Bones is not mine. Now excuse me while I go cry in my bathroom. .

–&–

He had knocked on her door a few hours after she'd gotten home, and when she opened and let him in, the first thing a smiling Sully asked her was if she really thought that elevators were soundproof. In other words–and this she understood after he elaborated his sentence–most of the people at the Hoover that worked between Booth's floor and the bottom floor of the building had heard at least a fragment of their argument. Considering the velocity in which 'news' like that travel and due to the craving some people have got when it comes to gossip, pretty much everybody had found out about what had happened between the partners by the end of the day. This including, of course, Sully.

"I'm sorry, but _why_ exactly are you mad at me?" he wants to know with an amused grin as he goes sit on the coffee table in front of the couch she's sitting on.

Brennan opens her mouth to speak but decides against it. Instead, she puts her hair in a knot and looks down to the screen of the laptop resting on her lap. She hasn't written a word since she came home. All she has done is read what's already typed and play with the font sizes. She puts the laptop down on the table, next to Sully, and when she looks up to him again, he's still staring at her, waiting for an answer.

"I am not–" she begins, but notices her tone of voice is on defensive mode, so she draws in a quick breath in an attempt to change it. "I'm not angry, I simply don't understand why you're defending Booth."

He shakes his head slightly. "I didn't defend him. I just told you that background checks and stuff like that, well B., that's what we _do_. In fact, I suspected he would run me through the system."

"Why?" Brennan asks as she frowns.

"'Cause he _cares_ about you. A guy you used to date shows up after four years, you really thought Booth was gonna be cool with it?"

"I can take care of myself." Her eyes wander away to the window and into the early night. "The whole situation is just...ridiculous."

"Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have looked me up or whatever, but B... He didn't tell you about Hannah, you didn't tell him about us. The way I see it, you two are pretty much even. You know, fact upon fact."

Brennan lets out a sigh. "I suppose that's–"

"Logical?" he finishes the sentence with a grin. "I'm right and you absolutely hate it, don't you?"

"Not as much as I would have done before" she admits sincerely – because, really, if there's something she has learnt the last few months, is that sometimes she can be oh so immensely wrong.

"Well, that was unexpected," Sully declares with a smile and leans in, almost closing the gap between them. "And by the way? I don't know if I mentioned it but I liked seeing you at the match the other night."

She smiles back at him. "You didn't mention it, and I liked being there."

"Really? I mean, we only lost by, like, a hundred points." He scoffs. "So much for showing myself up."

"Twenty-seven points, actually," Brennan corrects him, and catches the incredulous look the agent gives her. "What? I just thought that while being there, it wouldn't hurt if I actually tried to understand the rules of the game. The process of learning new things is very stimulating."

"Hey, you're getting better at being a girl," he exclaims and places a kiss on her lips. "However, I can think of more stimulating things we can do together."

"But I'm working," she whines, though not with enough determination to convince neither him or herself.

"_What_? You haven't even typed a word since I got here," Sully points out. He's pretty much ready to lift her up when his phone, buried in the left pocket of his jeans, starts ringing. He grabs it reluctantly and takes a look at the screen. "All right, stay there and do _not_ touch the computer," he orders Brennan with a smirk as he turns around to answer the call. "Sullivan. Yes. What?–No, no." He glances at Brennan with a puzzled look on his face. "You positive? Where?" He chuckles. "Great job, man, really. I owe you one."

"What happened?" Brennan wonders as he shoves the phone back to his pocket.

Sully looks at her, beaming. "They found him."

* * *

Footsteps follow her around the lab. A voice calls out her name, first in a murmur and after the fifth or so try, in a much louder tone. After a couple of seconds, Brennan feels the presence of a body next to her and stops walking to turn to look at her friend. She opens her mouth to speak but Angela is faster, and holds her hand up to stop her.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I can do the talking," she says with a small grin that fades quickly away as soon as Brennan goes back to making her way through the medical lab. "Or not. You mind running a little bit slower?"

She doesn't stop to talk, nor looks at the artist in the eyes. "Angela, I don't want to be unpleasant, but I'm very busy working."

The soon-to-be mom freezes in shock and gets a spark in her eyes along with a sensation Brennan hasn't provoked in her in a long, long time. When she speaks again, the tone of her voice isn't that gentle anymore.

"I may be pregnant and emotional, Brennan, but I'm still your best friend. Now you better turn around and listen to me. Now." A smile of victory tugs at her lips as the scientist obeys and spins slowly on her heels. "This whole thing you and Booth have going on? Drop it. You haven't worked a case in _days_."

"Angela..."

"No–I'm not done. Listen, I know you feel fooled, and sure, even I feel that way a bit," she continues, her features going soft again. "But he's a mess, Brennan. I stopped by his office this morning to show him what I've gotten from the codified files. He barely even spoke to me."

Brennan tries really hard to hide the concern that starts growing inside of her every time somebody mentions Booth. Ever since their argument at the Hoover three days ago, and even though they haven't spoken, he's present in pretty much every one of her thoughts.

Her eyes drop to her hands and she bits her lower lip as she thinks about what to say next. "I suppose you expect me to do something about it?" she asks with an unsure tone as she lifts her gaze again.

"He broke up with his girlfriend and got dumped by his partner. Since Hannah is chasing bad guys and fighting for the freedom of speech in the Middle East, yeah, I kinda expect you to do something."

"I–I didn't _dump_ Booth," Brennan defends herself quickly. "We're still partners, Ange."

"Yeah?" Angela asks crossing her arms and nods then toward the platform. "Then why is Cam sending the squintern of the week to the crime scenes? Brennan, prolonging this is not gonna do any good, to _anybody_. I know you're worried sick deep down."

And she is, because even if Brennan pretends like the stinging feeling in her stomach isn't real, it's still there. She lets out a breath and glances at her office, the sick sensation growing stronger.

"I don't–I don't have time for this, Angela," she says, but her feet seem to be glued to the floor.

The artist rubs her temples with her thumb and forefinger. "Look, Brennan, I get that you're angry at him and sure, your anger may be justified. But that he didn't tell you about the break-up is not the only reason you're mad." When her friend opens her mouth to protest, she is quick to cut her off. "Don't–let me finish, please. You feel tricked because you think that Booth spending more time here and falling into the old routine only happened because Hannah is out of the picture. Maybe–maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but he's still our friend. _Your_ friend."

Brennan bits her lip again and lowers her gaze. Some seconds go by, seconds in which the anthropologist takes in Angela's words and sort of scans them in her head. She feels transparent and predictable and a bit uncomfortable with the fact that the artist knows her so well to know that the thought of Booth's behavior and it depending only on Hannah's absence has actually crossed her mind. More than once.

"He didn't speak?" she asks at last, the unsure tone of voice from before coming back, only now it has a thread of worry in it as well.

"I could count the words with the fingers of one hand."

Brennan glances at Angela briefly and lets out a breath. "He hasn't been returning my calls, Ange," she says, and looks away. "I don't think he wants to see me."

"This is _Booth_, sweetie. He'll always want to see you. I think he's just trying to deal with everything that's happening right now."

"Do you mean he is still dealing with his rupture with Hannah?"

The corners of her lips curl up into a smile. "Sure, let's say it's because of that," Angela says and shakes her head slightly.

It's been enough of trying to get through the wall already, at least for now.

* * *

Three knocks. Followed by three more, followed by a whole bunch of knocks on his front door. He casts a last glance at the almost empty coffee cup resting on the table in front of him before lifting himself up from the couch. Coffee. Ever since his conversation with Wyatt, the black, strong tasting vice is completely ruined. All he thinks about when pouring the steaming beverage into a cup is afternoon tea and fig trees versus second chances and blue eyes that are looking bluer than ever nowadays. Another guilty pleasure suddenly shattered, as if having to give up the sporadic cigar due to his health hadn't been enough.

More knocks.

He groans. "One second!" Booth shouts as he approaches the door without hurries. If he wants to take his time, he damn sure will. When he finally gets to the door and half-opens it, he sees her standing there in the almost complete darkness of the hallway, the only glint of light coming from her sparkling gaze.

Because of the–mostly inevitable–need he feels to consider her and let his pupils take her in every time he sees her, Booth pushes the door so it opens completely, eyeing his partner quickly from head to toe, and noticing the brown paper bag her left hand is holding firmly. He shakes his head discretely in an attempt to bring himself back to reality and forces his eyes to travel up to hers again.

"You don't want to be partners anymore?" Brennan asks in an almost inaudible voice the second their eyes meet, and tilts her head to the side.

"What? Who told you that?" he asks back in surprise as she slides into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. "Oh, well, _please_ come in," he adds with thread of irony running through his voice.

Booth shuts the door and turns to face her, who has already come as far as the doorway to his living room and is staring at him from there, waiting for him to catch up with her so that she can answer to his question.

"I got a letter from the FBI where it says that we're no longer having partners therapy due to refusal from one of the parts. Since I haven't said anything, it's only logical to think that you must be the part that refused," she explains as she waves toward him with her hand.

The agent rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah, well..." he begins, "after what happened the other day I assumed you'd found the sessions with Sweets to be pretty much useless."

"Which is accurate," she makes sure to point out.

He chuckles and looks away. "Thought you'd said that."

"So you did it for me?" Brennan wants to know with a small smile, feeling incredibly–and irrationally–relieved to know that his intention was never to break the constant in both their lives.

"Yes," he answers, without any hesitation whatsoever. He clears his throat and buries his hands in the pockets of the worn jeans he's wearing. "Yeah, of course. And for Sweets too, you didn't seem so happy with him either."

"Again – accurate," she says, her smile getting just a little bit wider. However, the smile disappears as the next thought hits her. "They won't allow us to work together if we don't go to therapy, Booth."

"Nah, I already took care of it," the agent says, and dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand, one that fails to convince his partner since she quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. "I pulled some strings, all right? It should keep Hacker's mouth shut for a while," he explains and swallows with difficulty. "Is that why you came? 'Cause you could have called, y'know."

Brennan shoots him an annoyed look. "You are not _answering_ my calls."

It was worth a try. "Good point," he says and casts a glance at the paper bag. "What's that?"

Instead of answering, she heads to the couch. "I figured out that since you kept your break-up with Hannah a secret," Brennan tells him as she pulls a bottle of Cromarty off the bag and puts it down on the coffee table, "you probably didn't have the opportunity to grieve properly."

"And by grief," Booth drags the words as he walks over to her, although he stops some inches away from the couch, "you mean a bottle of scotch."

Her chin tilts up ever so slightly. "Angela says that alcohol is the first step in the path of–and I quote– mending a broken heart. Although her thesis doesn't contain the appropriate anthropological grounds, I've found it to be comforting in the past."

"So basically, you want me to get wasted so I can get over Hannah," he clarifies with an amused look on his face.

She gives him an adorable shrug. "It's a common ritual, Booth."

"But that's not..." he begins, running a hand through his hair, not really sure of what to say next. "Look, Bones, I appreciate the gesture and all but me and Hannah, we...I'm _fine_. I don't need to grieve."

"Then do it for me," she says as her gaze drops to the bottle of liquor. "As a partner thing."

"For you?" Booth asks back, already knowing that she doesn't even need to answer to his question. He's never been good at denying her anything, and he knows it all too well.

"Yes. I... We didn't have our celebration drink after the last case," she explains in an attempt to convince him, completely unaware of the fact that he's already jumped on the wagon. "We could drink and grieve. Metaphorically, of course, because nobody has died."

He shakes his head and lets out a brief laugh as he heads to the kitchen. "I'll be right back."

Her eyes follow him out of the room and travel then to the bookshelf where a couple of familiar covers catch her attention. She walks over to the shelf and grabs one of them: the second book she ever wrote, the first she dedicated to him. A smile tugs at her lips at the memory of Booth doing everything he could in order to get her to let him read the novel before it got published, and her fingers run through the dedication delicately as she mouths the words in silence and speaks them out loud in her head. _This book is dedicated to my partner and friend, Seeley Booth_. The sound of glasses clashing against each other drags her back from the memories of five years ago, and when she looks up from the pages of the book and sees Booth, she puts the novel carefully back on the shelf.

"Something wrong?" he asks nodding toward the pile of books.

She shakes her head slightly. "I didn't know you had them," Brennan explains as she takes off her coat. "The novels, I mean."

"Of course I do, Bones. I told you, if you have time to write them then I have time to read them," Booth states with a smile as he goes sit on the couch. "C'mon now, let's try out that scotch you've got."

He waits for her to hang her coat and sit down next to him to start pouring some of the liquor into both glasses. As soon as he's done, Brennan grabs her glass and takes a large sip. Booth mirrors her actions and empties his in two sips. Like they'd done the night she'd come to his office and asked him if he was avoiding her, they drink in silence for a few minutes. However, after both have emptied their glasses six or so times, he decides he's brave enough to bring up the subject for real.

"I found out about you and Sully the same day Hannah and I broke up," Booth says calmly, his gaze fixed blankly on the wall.

Brennan stares at him in both surprise and sorrow before speaking. She puts her glass down on the table. "Booth..." she trails off.

"You said you weren't sure of how long I'd known," he explains as his fingers play with the glass, and turns then to face her with a half-smile. "Now you do."

"I should have told you," Brennan says in a soft voice as she tries to search for his eyes. Eye contact, always so important.

As if he knows what she's trying to do, Booth looks at her directly. "But you did."

"_Eventually_," she clarifies and pours more scotch into both glasses.

Booth takes a large sip and squeezes his eyes shut as the liquor burns down his throat. "Well, who am I to throw the first rock, right?" he asks rhetorically and takes another sip.

She doesn't answer the question but decides to mirror him in silence. Soon they're back to their 'drinking without words' interaction and it takes a few more sips for her to speak up her mind.

"I'm sorry about what I said, Booth," she murmurs. Booth's eyes travel up to her. "About us...being just partners."

"Hey, it's not like you told a lie," he shrugs, trying to hide the fact that his own words are making him feel so, _so_ small. "We _are_ partners."

She shakes her head vaguely. "But that's not where it ends."

"It's not?" Booth sniper asks, failing miserably to hold back his eagerness.

However, Brennan misses the spark that takes over his brown eyes as she is busy staring at the corner of the table and considering her words before giving him a proper answer. If they're going to have this conversation, she needs to make sure he understands what she wants to say.

"Our partnership is very important to me, Booth," she confesses at last, "but I value our friendship as well. I... I value it more than I could possibly explain with words."

His heart melts as he listens devotedly to her. As soon as she goes quiet though, Booth grows serious. "Listen... Bones, I'm really sorry I lied to you. I am." He rests his elbows on his knees, propping his upper-body. "But to be honest, I'm more sorry for whatever I did that made you feel like you couldn't trust me."

"I–Booth, that's not why I didn't–"

"You don't need to excuse yourself," he cuts her off, unaware of what her words would have done to the moment. "I know... I know I acted different during my relationship with Hannah. I know I've changed."

Her fingers play distractedly with the tops of her auburn hair. "Change is inevitable."

"Yeah, but it doesn't necessarily make it right. Let's just–Listen, let's just not do that thing where we hide stuff from each other anymore," he suggests, and tries really hard to convince himself of the fact that what _he_ is hiding from her is nothing she _needs_ to know. Not for now at least.

"We can't know everything about each other, Booth," Brennan tells him, but when she looks up to him and catches his expression, she figures it out. "Oh, too literal."

"You got it," Booth says with a grin. "I mean, stuff like... Like, let me know if you plan on getting married."

"But I don't. You know I don't believe in marriage, Booth," she hurries to point out, very matter-of-factly.

"Bones..." He gives her the _look_ again, a look that she catches this time as well.

"Too literal, again." She nods toward the empty bottle resting on the table. "The scotch is gone."

"Probably 'cause you drank it all," Booth jokes as he nudges his shoulder against hers gently, only this time she's the one to cast one of those glances at him. "Hey, it was a joke," he clarifies half-laughing."Out of affection, you know."

Her cheeks turn a vague shade of pink. "Yes, of course."

Booth grabs both glasses and stands up from the couch. "So... I guess we're back to being the modern version of Scully and Mulder, huh?"

"I still don't know what that means," she admits, meeting his eyes. "Although I do remember you saying it was a cherry branch... Which doesn't make sense to me either."

"Olive, Bones, _olive_ branch," he chuckles. "I'll explain it to you one day, but right now we need to get you a cab. Cam's gonna kill me if you show up late 'cause you're too hungover."

She gasps as if he just offended her terribly. "I can handle my liquor, Booth."

Fleeting images of the times they'd shared a drink–_or two, or three_–cross his mind. "Tell me about it," he comments, and starts heading to the kitchen. However, a thought hits him out of nowhere and he spins around. "Wait a minute. You thought I didn't want us to be partners anymore but you still showed up with the bottle of scotch."

She frowns. "I don't follow your reasoning."

"I... Forget it, it doesn't matter," Booth says and smiles more to himself than her. She really did meant the part where she said she valued their friendship if she decided to come over and grieve with him even under the impression that their partnership was over. "I'll get you that cab."

* * *

The days with cases and waiting for the squints to call him with results didn't use to be as boring as doing paperwork. Before, when he waited for results, at least he got to fall asleep on Brennan's couch while she was away speaking to the bones. Now, and though they cleared the air the night before, it still doesn't feel quite right to do most of the things he took for granted before everything got so...messy. He leans back on his chair and rests his head on the head rest, and remains in that position until a familiar voice brings him back.

"I owe you an apology," the voice says from the doorway, forcing Booth to open his eyes and cast a glance at him. "For the elevator thing?"

"You don't say," Booth chuckles sarcastically as he straightens himself in the seat.

Sully extends his arms to the side and lets them fall down again. "Fine, I get it. I'm probably your least favorite person right now. But once again we're both in her life and I think she would appreciate it if we made an effort."

He scoffs and gets a threatening look on his face. "Don't come here and tell me what she'd feel. She's _my_ partner."

"It doesn't has to be this way, Booth," Sully replies tiredly as he walks over to the desk.

"Do you always have to be the bigger man? What, are you applying for sainthood?" he asks with a lifted eyebrow, and leans closer to the desk.

"Hey, you know me," the agent shrugs. "So, peace?"

Booth shakes his head, amused. He can't help but give Sully some credit for his charisma, and deep down he also knows that his words about the woman they have in common are probably true. Finally, he gives in. "All right, let's just not get gushy about it."

"Still same old Booth."

"Still same old Sully, slightly shorter than me," Booth says with a mocking grin.

"And here I thought the caribbean air had made me some good," he says and makes a brief pause. "By the way, I assume you're going to the FBI's little get-together with fancy prizes and a free bar?"

"Yeah... Cam made me promise I would, so I guess I have to. You?"

"Did I mention the free bar?" Sully asks as he makes a move to leave, but decides against it. "Anyway, you better take care of Brennan during the party."

Puzzled, Booth asks "What? What are you talking about?"

"Man, do you ever go to the meetings around here? Cullen said partners have to go together. Well, except for Shepard and Sawyer, they didn't seem so happy with it. But then again, they both have wives, so I'm going to guess and say it probably has something to do with that."

"No, no," he shakes his head. "I didn't know about that. That's not–I don't know."

"What, you really wanna upset the man upstairs?" Sully asks, taking advantage of Booth's mania to follow protocol.

Luckily for Booth, he doesn't get to answer since the sound of a particular forensic artist clearing her throat interrupts them.

Sully casts a glance at her. "Seems like you've got a visitor, so I'll just get back to work. Angela", he greets her.

"Sully," she greets him as well, and offers him her cheek. He obliges with a chuckle and when he kisses it, she murmurs "I know what you did there."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ange," the agent says in a whisper, and exits the office after giving her a last smile.

Angela, who has been standing by the doorway for the last few seconds and whose ears have caught most of the conversation between the agents, shakes her head slightly and turns her attention to Booth.

"I've got more of your favorite hacked files", she says with a grin, holding up a small black laptop so he can see it.

* * *

They step out of the elevator and she follows him hot on his heels, none of them really bothering to keep the volume of their argument down to a decent level. They've just been at the floor under Booth's and interrogated a suspect that all of a sudden started to blurt out things about a secret society and how scientists only make the world worse with their theories, only to look then at Brennan and tell her that he could easily make her the next target on said society's list. That's when Booth, in one swift move, had rounded the table and grabbed the suspect by the collar of his t-shirt firmly, making sure to clarify that if _anything_ happened to his partner, he would not be as 'careful' as he was being at that moment.

However, as the man had smirked and given Brennan a devilish smile, Booth's phone went off with a lead from Cam that meant he would have to drive outside of Virginia where the society's base was supposed to be.

"If we find more victims, I'll send everything to the lab. But you are not coming," he says for the fifth time, and shoots a glance at her. "_Period_"

"That's not for _you_ to decide," Brennan says as she follows him through the crowded hallway. "My expertise could be required! Not to mention, extremely useful."

"It's dangerous, Bones!" Booth exclaims, his arms traveling up in exasperation. "I'm not gonna risk your life just because you feel like being a rebel and going against the rules."

"The _rules_?" she hisses, freezing a few meters from his office.

He hears her stop and spins around to face her with his hands resting on his hips. "Yeah, the rules. You know, those little guide-lines that keep us from getting stuck in chaos?" Booth asks in irony as he walks over to her. "I'm sorry, Bones, but this time we're doing this the way it should be done. Squints at the lab, and end of discussion."

She rolls her eyes. "I can't believe this," Brennan says, folding her arms across her chest to show her annoyance.

"Well, I'm a constant surprise," he states, but the irony suddenly vanishes from his voice and he grows serious again. "Listen, I'll keep you updated, Bones. I promise. But I won't let you play cop this time."

"Why?" she demands to know, stubbornly.

He gasps, getting more irritated by the second. "_Because_, Bones, this guy and the gang of freaks he belongs to are dan-ge-rous! Jeez, how many times do I have to say this?"

"We've faced dangerous suspects before, Booth," she reminds him. "What's with the sudden impulse of leaving me behind?"

"All right, listen," he begins, stepping closer and waving his forefinger in front of her. "I know you're all about not fearing anything or anyone – and yeah, we've met some pretty wicked guys in the past, but it's been a while since one of them threatened you openly, so _forgive me_ if I worry about your safety."

"I can tak–"

"Sully!" he cuts her off as he shouts the name of the agent approaching them. "Talk some sense into her, would ya'?"

"I'm not–I'm not a child!" Brennan exclaims, offended. "You can't talk that way about me!"

"Lovely partnership," Sully comments, and when the partners cast a deathly glare at him, he adds, "Good morning to you, too."

"Yeah, yeah, oh shiny morning," Booth snaps and turns then back to his partner. "Maybe it's wrong to talk about you that way, but you know what _isn't_ wrong? To call the shots. In this case, I'm the one who does that. Squints in the lab. You're a squint," he says and points at her. "You, lab."

Brennan's eyes go wider and her lips purse, and before anyone gets to say anything else, she's on her way back to the elevator. Both agents follow her with their eyes, and when she steps into it and the elevator doors close, they glance at each other uncomfortably.

"That was intense," Sully half-jokes.

"She'll get over it," Booth shrugs. "She has to understand there's no way I'm gonna risk to," he makes finger quotes, "'make her the next target'."

"You think that guy killed the girl scientist?"

"I don't know, but they found two more victims, both women and both squints. What have you got?" he asks, waving toward the folder Sully is holding. The other agent hands it to him and he reads through the file quickly. "You know what?" Booth says, and nods to the direction in which Brennan just stormed off. "This feels like a _huge_ déjà vu. You have a terrible effect on her."

"Hey, don't get _me_ involved," he protests, placing his right hand on his chest. "She's mad at _you_ for getting all bossy."

Booth gives the other agent a cocky smile. "Well, I _am_ the one in charge."

"Sullivan," they hear from the other side of the hallway, and when they turn around, they see Perotta walking over to them. "You ready?"

"That depends," Sully says with a smile. "Am I driving?"

"Not a chance," the blonde scoffs and leads her partner to the elevator.

Booth can't help but smile at the partners' interaction as they disappear into the elevator just like his own partner did a few minutes ago. He lets out a deep breath and heads to his office while the picture of a very annoyed Brennan typing the sudden death of Andy in her computer forms in his head.

Three days until the FBI's party and this is going to be a long case.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: **Okay, so I know the e-mail thingy isn't working properly so I don't expect you to be reading this anytime soon, but I just _had_ to update this story anyway :) I took me a while to finish this chapter but I'm glad for it 'cause even though it didn't went the way I had planed, I really liked the outcome and I hope you'll like it too! What we get here is (among other things) another flashback, the development of the current case, and of course the FBI party where surprises, sweets interactions and a lot of action await.

Review, pretty pleaseee? I would LOVE to know what you think :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones and the hiatus is driving me crrrazy.

–&–

_He'd been back at the FBI for some weeks when she got the call from his partner. Perotta didn't say much at all – in fact, she only said a few words followed by a _'he went up to the roof'_, and then left it up to Brennan to do whatever she considered was the best thing to do. It was late; the sun had been hidden for a couple of hours already, and by the time she got to the Hoover, it had started to drizzle. She went to his office first, just in case, and on her way there she saw her own partner's office surrounded by darkness. Booth's absence didn't surprise her in the least; after all, he _did _have Hannah to get home to._

_After checking his and Perotta's office and not spotting any sign of him besides his coat hanging by the door, she headed to the roof through the old stairs. Carefully, she pushed the heavy door open and looked around, her eyes catching his silhouette almost immediately. He was sitting against the wall, one knee up and his arm resting on it. As soon as she got a clearer vision, she walked over to Sully, slide down the wall and ended up sitting next to him. The ground was wet from the drizzle and thin raindrops were falling down the sky, yet neither of those things seemed to bother him._

"_Did Payton call you?" he asked. He wasn't mad, not at her at least, but she still feared she had done the wrong thing by coming to him. Maybe he needed space._

"_Yes, she did," Brennan answered, simply. She casted a discreet glance at him. His suit was wet and dirty, and he had a few scratches on his left cheek._

_He scoffed. "Great, that's just..." he stopped, shaking his head. "I'm so screwed up that the two of you need to babysit me now."_

"_Sully..."_

_He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Just... I'm alright," he told her, his voice cracking vaguely. "Really. I'm... I'm fine."_

_Brennan nodded her head, not really sure of what to say. Silently, she cursed people skills and her lack of it. Everybody she knew would have known what to say in a situation like this: Angela, Russ, Booth – but she... She couldn't bring herself to do anything else but nod._

"_It's just that," Sully began after some silent moments, causing her to immediately leave her thoughts and focus on his words instead. "I can't–I can't believe he got away. We were there, and I was _so _close, and–and suddenly... he's gone."_

Gone again, _she thought. Like the night Sully had met him, the night he'd seen him shoot two kids. Ever since he had gotten his job at the FBI back, Sully had been working late and doing everything in his power to find something, _anything_, that would tell him who this man was. Finally, he had found a connection – not to the murderer, but to one of the victims: the older brother of one of the kids had fled the Dominican Republic right after his brother's murder and was now living in Miami. Careful not to blow the boy's cover up since he was in the US under a different name, Sully had managed to contact him and find out about the real reason he had moved to the States: he was after the man that had killed his brother, and most important, he knew where to find him. Together and with help from several contacts the boy had forged, they'd found a way to lure to man to Washington where Sully had taken over and finally had a confrontation face to face with the killer. Unfortunately, he'd managed to get away, causing both the agent and his work up until now to fall suddenly apart._

"_He could be anywhere in the state by now," Sully added through clenched teeth. "Hell, he's probably even out of the country, that sick bastard."_

_Brennan casted another glance at him, this time more directly. "You'll find him."_

_He chuckled and turned around to look at her. "How can you be so sure?"_

"_Because you already found him once, even though the probabilities were immensely low," she reminded him, and smiled softly. "You have the capacity, Sully. You're a very good agent."_

"_And how hilarious isn't that?" he asked, losing his temper a little and definitely not ready to quit beating himself up. "The _one _thing I didn't want to be my whole life is the _only _thing I end up being good at."_

"_That isn't true," Brennan declared firmly, and stood up from the ground. One thing she wouldn't allow __was for him to keep wallowing in self-pity._

_She waited for him to get up as well, which he did after a few seconds of staring at her. Once he was on his feet, Sully casted a brief glance at the dark horizon surrounding the building before burying his hands on the pockets of his pants and turning to look at Brennan. Besides the ones she'd already noticed, she now saw that had scratches on the other cheek as well, and dried blood decorated the side of his forehead. _

"_I have to find him," he said, his voice becoming a bit stronger with each word he pronounced. "I have to."_

_Her eyes, brighter than ever in the darkness of the cloudy night, gained a spark as a half-smile formed on her lips. "You will," she assured him._

* * *

He walks through the lab with that familiar rhythm that any man would use to pace through his bedroom floor. It's been two days since Brennan stormed off the Hoover, and even though he has been worried about the amount of hate she's feeling towards him, he's also been too busy trying to close the case to do something about it. Maybe he went too far with the 'You're a squint' thing, but he swears that, someday, that woman is going to be the death of him – in many, many ways. When he passes the platform, he casts a glance at its direction to see if she's there, but Hodgins is the only visible squint so he keeps walking to his partner's office.

"Hey, Booth," the bug expert shouts from behind him.

Booth doesn't stop to talk. "You have those results, Hodgins?"

"No, but–"

"Then I'll keep going."

"But, Booth, there's something you–"

"No results, no chit-chat. How many guards do you have here?" Booth asks, gesturing a circle around the lab. Hodgins, who's practically jogging to keep up with Booth, open his mouth to answer but is once again interrupted. "Never mind, I'm sending some agents over tomorrow for protection," he announces, and when he finally arrives to the anthropologist's office and notices its emptiness, he spins on his heels. "Where's Bones?"

"Bones storage, I think," Hodgins replies with a quirked eyebrow. "Why?"

Booth lets out a groan. "'Cause she's my _partner_, that's why." He begins walking to the other side of the lab. "Listen, Hodgins, call me when you get something, but right now I really gotta–"

"You told him?" Cam asks Hodgins as she catches up with both men.

He suddenly freezes and turns to look at his old friend and then at the entomologist. "Told me what? Is there something I should know?" He shoots a murder glance at the bug man. "_What haven't you told me_?"

Hodgins shakes his head. "Man, you really _are_ panicking, aren't you?"

"Excuse me, what is _that_ supposed to mean?" the agent asks, both his hands traveling to his hip and resting on it, defensively.

Cam holds up her forefinger in an attempt to get her friend's attention. "I think that what Dr. Hodgins really meant to say is that..." She lowers her hand hesitantly and stares into the agent's eyes. "Seeley, it's been two _very_ exhausting days of running against time and trying to find the base. I know you're eager to close this, but so are we, so why don't you go home and–"

"This guy is out there, Camille," Booth cuts her off, his fingers clenching on the fabric of the pants around his hips. "He threatened her right in front of me but since we didn't have anything else on him I had to let him go yesterday, so he's out there, and I just _know_ we'll see him again. There's something about him, Cam, something that's not right," he tells her, and lets his arms fall to the sides of his body. "Now, do you have anything that can be useful? Because if you don't, I rather go talk to my partner."

The pathologist lets out a deep breath and turns to look at her colleague. "Hodgins, fill him up, please." She turns to Booth. "I'm going to check if we had any luck with the DNA test."

Booth gulps. "And if there wasn't enough DNA..."

"… Then we're back to square one," Cam informs him and tilts her head to the side. "I'll call you later, alright?" She looks at the scientist. "Let me know if there's any progress."

"Sure, Cam," Hodgins says with a smile as he watches his boss walk away and when he turns to look at Booth, he realizes the agent's already on his way to the bones storage, waving him to his side with his hand. He lets out a chuckle and jogs after the agent. "So, look, basically I heard around about the society thing, and this guy I used to know–"

"Of course!" he exclaims, smacking himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand.

Hodgins freezes a few meters from the platform. "Man, are you _ever_ gonna let me talk to the point?"

Booth stops, too. "No. Yes!" he corrects himself, and rubs his temples before looking up to the scientist again. "I mean, of course you heard around, you used to be one of those conspiracy freaks."

"_Way_ to put it," he protests, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, wondering how he manages to make things even worse every time he gets the chance. "Didn't mean it like that."

"Alright, moving on," he smiles, "this guy I used to know has been off the map for quite some time now, _but_", he makes a brief pause in which his finger travels to the level of his face in the most dramatic manner, "rumor has it, he has taken over _Insidias Eorum_."

Booth glares at him, waiting for an explanation, and when he doesn't get one he lets out an frustrated sigh. "Care to elaborate anytime soon?"

He shoots him a severe look. "Okay, it's _only_ every scientist's worse nightmare," he snorts. "A society founded with one purpose only: discredit the most brilliant scientists in _every_ possible way. And trust me, they've got their ways. It's wicked how much success they've been having through the years." There's a hint of admiration in his voice, but Booth decides not to comment on it.

The agent places his thumb and index finger on his chin as he takes in the new information. "Are they dangerous?"

"Don't know yet, but they're certainly vicious about what they do."

"You think you can get inside?" Booth asks carefully. "Considering you're a squint and they may want to cut you to pieces and all."

Hodgins smirks in advance since he knows this is the part Booth is going to like the most. "Not a problem, and already on it," he tells him, and starts to walk back to his office. Before disappearing from the agent's sight, he looks over his shoulder and adds, "By the way, I'll send those results to you when I got 'em."

Booth points at him as he walks backwards down the hallway. "Lookin' forward to it," he says with a grin, and spins then around to go back to making his way to–as he has gotten used to call it–Limbo.

These are _good_ news. If Hodgins has success and is able to get some inside information, Booth's pretty sure they'll have everything they need to know how to go from here. Most important, he'll know how far these guys are willing to go and will therefore be able to not only close the case but to protect his partner from whatever danger they may represent.

Yes, protect her. That's what matters now. Not that she's with someone else, not that he feels the inevitable–and _oh_ so wrong considering the circumstances–need to _kiss_ her basically every time they're alone, or with other people, or at her office or on their way to his car, or when she... _No_, he says to himself, and squeezes his eyes shut. He has to stop. They're partners, friends, but it doesn't go further than that. It _won't_ go further than that.

As he gets closer to the bones storage, Booth tries to put on the most neutral facial expression he can manage, and when he turns to his right and his foot is about to cross the doorframe to the anteroom of Limbo, he sees _her_ blowing the bangs off her eyes and placing both her hands on the sides of her waist. The agent takes a look at the couch across her and his eyes catch the object of her annoyance right away. He should have known Sully was going to be there after what he heard had happened to him. Booth takes a step backward in a weak attempt to leave, but freezes when his partner's voice fills the room.

"But _why_ did you go alone?" she demands to know, and by the tone of her voice, it's not the first time she asks the question. "Why didn't you call for back-up?"

Taking advantage of the half-open door that hides _him_ from their sight but not them from his, Booth fights every fiber of his body that tells him that eavesdropping is far from the right thing to do and holds his breath until the other agent speaks up.

"Didn't have time," Sully shrugs and tries to reach for the first aid kit lying on the floor, just a few inches from his feet. It must have hurt, though, because he winces and goes back to his previous position and looks at Brennan wide-eyed. "Hand me the povidone, will ya'?"

She bents down reluctantly, grabs the bottle from the kit and hands it to him. "That's not very hygienic, and definitely _not _something you should be doing in here," she declares as she watches the injured agent spread some of the liquid on his chest through his half-unbuttoned shirt. "In fact, you should have gone to the hospital."

"Since when do you trust hospitals so much?" Sully laughs, but stops when his chest can't take it anymore. "I bet if you were the one in my position," he continues, pointing at her, "you'd be doing everything in your power _not_ to let a doctor see you, stubborn as you are."

Brennan gasps in indignation. "I'm not–"

"Oh, don't even _dare_ to deny it," he chuckles, but grows serious when her expression doesn't change a bit. "All right, look – I cleaned the wound inside the bathroom, and I won't come near any of your World War II buddies lying there in Limbo," he promises with a smile. "I wanted to see you, that's all. And this'll heal. It always does."

She lets out a sigh and looks at him with skeptical eyes. "Is that how you got the scar on the back of your shoulder? By chasing a woman that gave you a misleading tip?"

"Oh, come on, B., you know she did more than that," Sully protests. "She _lied_, which means she's hiding something, and that something could be _him_," he explains, and when she bits her lower lip pensively, he grins slyly. "And how do you even know about that scar?"

Suddenly, her cheeks are on fire. "I'm observant," Brennan answers quickly, and looks away.

The agent's sly smile gets even worse. "Are you blushing? I don't think I've ever seen you blush like that", he says amused. "God, you're so cute."

Booth gulps and embraces the irony of the situation he has put himself into. This is karma, and he knows it. He's been eavesdropping on a private conversation between the woman he loves and the man she's in a relationship with, and now he has to pay the prize and listen to the most _private_ part of it.

Or he could walk away.

He should, he _should_ walk away, but he can't. All he can bring himself to do is to turn his back on the room and lean against the cold wall next to the door. He knows he'll still be able to hear them, but at least he won't see her cheeks turn bright pink because she got caught 'being observant'. Booth feels his stomach turn upside down, and his mouth goes dry, dry, dry. He _really_ should leave the place before he's the one that gets caught.

"_Cute_?" Brennan asks from inside the room.

"Yeah, cute," the other agent insists, and after a few seconds, Booth hears what sounds like the end of a kiss. Masochism, this is pure masochism. "And irresistibly stubborn."

"So, according to your reasoning," she begins, very matter-of-factly, "unlike a few minutes ago when being stubborn would have lead to deteriorating my health – possessing the quality is now considered to be a good thing."

"That depends. Are you still stubbornly mad at Booth?" he asks carefully, but when silence takes over the room, he goes ahead and continues. "He's just trying to protect you, you know. Nothing to get all ninja about."

This is it. He takes a breath and turns to his right and through the half-open door. As he walks into the room, he makes sure his footsteps are heavier than usual, hoping to force both the anthropologist and the other agent to acknowledge his presence without problems. He succeeds, as she immediately looks his way and Sully greets him by standing up from the couch, his shirt sliding down his right arm.

"You okay?" Booth asks, nodding toward the other man's chest. "Charlie told me what happened."

Sully chuckles before answering. "I'm gonna betray my manhood and admit that, yeah, this hurts like hell, but I'm also pretty sure I'll live." He smiles widely. "You know if they got a hit on the patent I sent Perotta?"

"Nope, nothing," he answers with a slight shake of his head. "You should call her, though, she was pretty hysterical when I left. Even went as far as snapping at Cullen when he refused to send another team to the harbor where you and Miss Little Liar had your encounter."

"Ah, that's my girl, defending me even when I get beat up by... well, other girls," Sully says proud, and starts to button his shirt. "You're right, I should c–" His words fade away when his hand accidentally brushes the wound.

"Sully, hospital!" Brennan jumps immediately. What is it with the men in her life and their constant refusal to let a doctor examine them?

He gives her a wide smile. "Maybe later. I'll be right back," Sully announces, and disappears through the door with the phone already on his hand and his fingers searching through the contact list.

Booth studies his partner before breaking the ice, or rather the _wall_ of ice that grows between them as soon as they're left alone. When she sits down on the couch without asking him to leave, he takes the opportunity to try to mend bridges between them. "You alright, Bones?"

"Yes, of course", she replies, looking up to him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Maybe 'cause your," and he tries his best not to let that many fractions of seconds pass between his last word and the one he's saying next, "boyfriend got stabbed in the chest by some psycho chick that got away?"

She doesn't even notice the term her partner just used to refer to Sully, mostly because her mind is everywhere and anywhere at the same time, unable to focus, unable to catch up. "It'll heal," she declares at last, with a vague smile. "Sully will be fine."

"You know, Bones," he says, and collapses in the couch, next to her, "you _are_ allowed to freak out if you want."

"I'm fine, Booth. I'm not the one who's injured." She glances at him from the corner of her eye. "Why are you here? We don't have anything new on the case."

He takes a deep breath. "You're still mad," Booth states, and turns to face at her even though her gaze is fixed on the wall at the other side of the room. "Look, Bones, I'm sorry I treated you like that. You were right, it was... I was–" He runs his fingers through his dark, messy hair. "I just... I don't want to put you in any more danger than I already have. That's all."

The last two sentences his lips utter cause her to meet his eyes right away. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" she asks, feeling disturbed. What did she possibly do to make him think that way? "You haven't done anything to threaten my safety, Booth."

"_Really_?" he asks back and can't help but let out a laugh filled with irony. "Serial killers, gang leaders, secret society's freaks? Would you have met any of them if you weren't partners with me?" Brennan opens her mouth to contradict him, but he cuts her off. "You know I'm right, Bones. You're better off here at lab, at least during this case."

"You can't possibly know what would have happened if our partnership was never to be founded. Thinking about lost possibilities," she says, and all of a sudden her eyes go darker, "it's simply...pointless."

He doesn't miss the shadows that–probably against her will–conquer her eyes, but for the sake of his own sanity, Booth convinces himself quickly that her sentence had nothing but one single meaning: work. He chooses his words carefully before speaking. Obviously, he can't use the same tactic he used two days ago because that's only going to result in another fight and Brennan storming off Limbo. No, this time he has to do it _her_ way. Facts. Reason. Logic.

"Listen, Bones," he begins, shifting position in the couch so that he can look at her directly, "that man threatened you _in front _of a federal agent. He knows you work with me and he knows we're not gonna drop the case, so the _rational_ thing to do is to make sure he can't get to you, don't you think? I won't..." There's a stern glint in his eyes when he locks them with hers. "I won't let anything happen to you, and that's the last thing I'm saying about this matter."

They both hold the gaze for a fraction, studying each other, until she breaks it and looks down as she lets out a sigh. "Okay", she says simply.

"Thank– Wait, what? Does that mean you agree?"

"You presented your case with valid arguments and a quite irrefutable hypothesis," she explains as she meets his brown eyes again, and when he gives her the 'you have to say the words' look, she adds, "Yes, Booth, I agree with you."

This time, he doesn't even bother to hide the smile on his face. "Thank you, Bones," he says sincerely, nudging his shoulder with hers, happy to have been able to solve this issue between them.

* * *

The clock on the kitchen wall indicates that it's three in the morning when she tiptoes through the apartment on her way back to her bedroom, trying not to make a sound – but honestly, not putting so much effort on it. Oddly enough, the reason she woke up is thirst and not yet another nightmare; something she's silently thankful for. She drags the t-shirt down before crawling back under the sheets and the second she does so, two arms wrap themselves around her waist. Brennan shifts position right away, and faces the man to who those two arms and most of her daily smiles belong to.

"Everything alright?" Sully asks, eyes closed and sleepy to the bones.

Their relationship is... unusual, really. Even more unusual than the nightmares taking a break and leaving her alone for a while, because who would have thought she'd end up where she is now? She allows a smile form on her lips–a smile that's more to herself than him since his eyes are shut–and thinks about the events of the last couple of months. Is this fair? Are they being fair to each other? Is there more to know than what they've already admitted to one another? And most important, is it right to feel this secure and good with someone when only months ago, she thought she'd never feel completely comfortable in arms that weren't his – _Booth's_? But Sully knows. He knew from the beginning what she was going through, and he stayed anyway. What does that mean? Her eyes go wider as she studies his features. Jet black hair, brown–now closed–eyes, perfect-sized nose. She remembers how she felt about Sully four years ago; remembers how he was probably the first man in her life that gave her a feeling of inner peace, that made her laugh in bed like no one had before, that called her out when she tried to deny what they had together... That made sure she knew he hadn't given up on her, even after he had to leave. She remembers all that, and thinks about how she feels now.

"Yes," she answers simply, moving a little bit closer to the warmth of his body.

His eyes half-open when he feels her scooting into his arms, and he places a soft kiss on her lips. "When are you leaving tonight?"

"Booth is picking me up at seven," Brennan informs him, and kisses him back, making sure it lasts a bit longer this time. "You?"

He smiles against her lips. "I'll pick up Payton around the same time. See you there? I'll be the one in a tux and I'm guessing you'll look beautiful as always."

Brennan chuckles and shakes her head slightly. "There'll be a lot of men in tuxedos, Sully."

"Then it'll be my job to find you," he concludes, and kisses the top of her head as he drags her even closer to him, his arms still tangled around her waist.

"How's your chest?" she asks after a yawn, looking down to the gauze covering his wound and brushing the surface of it with her finger.

"Better," he says softly.

She doesn't answer, but presses her forehead gently to the side of his chest that's not injured. Michael, Peter, David, Mark, even Andrew... All of them meant something at the moment–she never denied that–but none of them made the _impact_ Sully and Booth managed to make and keep making. Her eyelids feel suddenly heavier and another yawn escapes her lips.

Meanwhile, his fingers trace the fabric of the wide t-shirt she has on, from her shoulder blade and down her back. "Hey, B.?"

"Yes?" she says without opening her eyes, her voice as sleepy as his had sounded when she crawled into bed minutes before.

"How's your heart?"

Brennan smiles vaguely and doesn't even bother to think of the literal meaning of the word 'heart'. Instead, she answers referring to the meaning she knows he had in mind when he uttered the question. "Healing," she says in a whisper.

As she begins to slowly dive into the kindness of sleep, the last interrogative that pops up in her head is the one that has been bothering her since the day the agent lying in bed next to her found her at the bar: her feelings for Sully, do they take away the truth of what she confessed to Booth that rainy night?

* * *

Cam's suspicions about the DNA test turn out to be correct, and when the team arrives at the lab early in the morning, they learn they haven't got a single lead to work on. Not even Hodgins has been able to get something, from his contacts – which takes them, as Cam told Booth the day before, back to square one.

"It's only been a day," Angela reminds the rest of the team, and glances at her husband. "Maybe your friend didn't get your message, babe."

They're all scattered in Brennan's office: the anthropologist leaning against her desk, the grad-student right next to her in his grey lab coat; the pathologist standing by the doorway with her arms folded in concern and the artist and the bug man sitting on the couch.

Hodgins shakes his head slightly. "I'm pretty sure he did. It's just too risky to get me involved, I guess."

"What do we do now?," Wendell asks them all, but his eyes are fixed on his mentor.

"I don't know," Brennan says, feeling defeated for the first time in a long, long time. Hitting a dead end is never a good thing when you're trying to catch a murderer.

Cam clears her throat in an attempt to get everyone's attention. She knows already what the reactions to her words will be, so as soon as all eyes are on her, she goes with it. "We should leave it, at least for today."

"What?"

"No."

"Why?"

"No!"

She lets out a sigh and looks in the couch's direction. "Angela, you are done with the IDs, right?"

"Yes, but what if another victi–"

"And Hodgins," she continues, looking at the entomologist, "are you sure you've collected and analyzed every useful particulate found in the bodies?"

He nods his head. "Positive, but still–"

"Dr. Brennan, Mr. Bray," she turns to look at them, "I'm sure you've–"

"Yes, we've done everything we can as well," Brennan exclaims, frustrated. "That doesn't mean there's nothing else left for us to work on."

"Actually, that's exactly what it means," Cam corrects her softly. "I hate it as much as you all do, but this time our hands are tied. We've got no leads whatsoever – _nothing_. I think the best thing to do would be to just go home and rest before the FBI party tonight, specially given the circumstances..." She casts what she believes is a discreet glance in Brennan's direction.

"No," she jumps. "No. I won't allow that. You're jeopardizing the case out of a erroneous concern for my safety. It's absurd!"

Angela gasps at her friend's words, and stands up from the couch with a bit of difficulty due to her baby bump. "Erroneous? Brennan, are you _serious_?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, shooting a glance at the artist and then at the rest of the people in the room. "Yes, I am."

"For all we know, he could've put a hit on you!" the soon-to-be mom shouts, loosing her temper. How can it be so difficult for her friend to understand what's going on? "Are you really going to shake this off just like that?"

"What do you want me to do, Angela?" Brennan asks back. "Let fear take over my life? Stop showing up to work until we solve this case?"

"No, but you could at least _pretend_ like you care," Angela answers quickly, as if the words were printed in her mind. "And if you're not up to it, then at least let us worry for you."

Brennan looks down for a fraction, frustrated, and then up to her friend again. "I just want us to remain professionals about this."

"All right, then," Cam says from her spot next to the door. "Dr. Brennan, I presume that you appreciate democracy as much as professionalism?"

The scientist frowns at the words, afraid of the course things are going to take after she utters her answer. "Yes..."

"Then, those who _vote_ for leaving the investigation be _for today_, please raise your hands."

Angela's hand is the first one to fly up, closely followed by her husband's and then by Cam's. Wendell, however, hesitates, and struggles between doing what he thinks is best or pleasing his mentor. Finally, and after feeling the pressure of having four pair of eyes on him–including Brennan's–he raises his hand as well, avoiding the anthropologist's gaze the best he can.

"It's settled, then," Cam concludes with a serious expression on her face. "See you all tonight."

And with that said, she leaves the room. Seconds later, Hodgins and Wendell make eye contact, the first nods towards the door, and soon they're both out of the office as well.

"Please, Brennan," Angela begs her as she walks over to her. "Please, just don't be the stubborn scientist for once. This is big, sweetie, and if you're not going to take it seriously, then let _us_ do that."

"I _am_ taking it seriously, Ange," Brennan explains tiredly. "I'm just tired of it, all of this."

"And that's completely understandable, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't take some precautions too. Just... Let's go home now and forget about the case for a couple of hours."

"How do you expect me to forget about the case when the case is what's forcing us all to make decisions we wouldn't make otherwise?"

"Just follow the storm, sweetie. Go home, eat something, put on one of those beautiful dresses of yours and let Booth take you to the party," she says, and half-smiles. "I'll do the same, except for the Booth part, and I'll see you there later tonight. Okay?"

"What makes you think I'll be safer at home?" Brennan tries one last time.

"You just will, alright? I'll be bombing you with phone calls and I'll make sure Agent Studly is there on time. Now, stop arguing and let's go," she orders and gestures toward the door.

Brennan, finally admitting to herself that this is a lost battle for her, nods her head slightly, grabs her things and follows her friend out of her office and the lab. All of a sudden, it feels like she's surrendering to everyone's wishes but her owns. The case better be solved soon, because she truthfully doesn't know how much longer she can take this.

* * *

Before stepping out of the elevator, he takes a last look at his reflection on the wide mirror. He's never been pretentious or cared that much about his appearance, but this night feels different. Sure, it's not the first time he takes her to one of those–by the norm–boring and quite dry FBI parties, but it's the first time he does it since she told him she didn't want to have regrets and he turned her down only to break-up with Hannah a few days later after realizing that he is, in fact, in love with her. Oh, he reminds himself, and let's not forget about the part where he discovers she's back with her ex-boyfriend who, and this is the worst part, happens to be a great guy – unlike most of the men she's been with through the years. With a shake of his head, Booth attempts to drive the unbearable thoughts of her smiling while kissing any of those men away, and knocks on her door.

It doesn't take her long to open, and when she does it, he's not sure if he's thankful or regretful. Part of him wishes he would have had more time to prepare himself for this, and the other part tells him that there's not enough time in the world to accomplish that task.

"I'm almost ready," Brennan greets him with a smile, both her hands occupied with the black, shiny earring she's trying to put on. "Come in," she urges him while she turns to the little table next to the door the pick up the other earring and starts to put that one on as well.

The agent takes advantage of the fact that she's turning her back to him and considers her properly. She's a vision – it's as simple and as wonderful as that. She's wearing a black dress, one that follows her curves tightly down to her waist where the fall goes just a _little_ bit wider and ends by her knees. The cleavage–because how could he not notice that–is tasteful and doesn't reveal much, but it's all compensated with the low back of the dress, which goes down in an inverse triangle, leaving part of her soft, milk white skin to the exposed. The matching dark heels she's wearing bring her up a few centimeters and make her almost as tall as he is; her hair is up in a sophisticated knot, the bangs have been both pulled backward and tucked behind her ears in a messy yet very classy way, and her eyes are... Sparkling. Sparkling through him, it almost feels like.

"I..." he begins, but is forced to let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding before continuing. "You..." he tries again, but fails miserably when she looks up to him, frowning. He clears his throat and tries one last time. "You look stunning, Bones."

Her cheeks turn slightly pink, a color that suits them well in combination with the pale blue of her eyes. "Thank you," she says, and takes the first proper look at her partner. He has always looked extremely good in a suit, and tuxedos are no different than that. "You too, Booth," she tells him softly.

Booth grins, proud of himself and the fact that he had her blushing, even if it was for a few seconds. "Yeah, well, a man's gotta try, right?" he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Right" she replies simply, and picks a black trench coat from the wardrobe. "Shall we?" she asks, nodding toward the door.

"Absolutely," Booth says, and smiles as he helps her put on the coat.

They drive–probably for the first time in weeks–in a comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other every now and then, but without feeling the _need_ to start a conversation to push the awkwardness away. It isn't until he parks by the five-stars hotel where the party is taking place that Brennan breaks the silence.

"For a moment..." she begins, undoing her seatbelt, "for a moment I thought you were going to try to talk me out of this."

"What? Coming to the party? Bones," he says with a cute laugh, "Why would I do that?"

She scoffs, more bitterly than she had intended to, and turns to look at him. "Everything seems to represent some kind of danger during this case."

"Bones, I..." Booth begins, unsure of what to say. "Look, I know you hate this more than anyone, but it's just one case and... We'll get him. I promise."

"Do you think he's the murderer? Montgomery, do you think he did it?" she asks, referring to the man that threatened her a couple of days ago and who's basically guilty of all the precautions they're taking with her.

"I don't know," he replies, turning his head to his right to look at her. "But we'll sure as hell find out," he concludes with a smile. "Now, c'mon, we don't wanna be late, do we?"

* * *

"Well, hello to you two," the artist greets them as she and her husband walk over to them.

"Hodgins, Ange," he greets them both after getting rid of his and his partner's coat; and takes a proper look at the long, burgundy dress she's wearing, one that forms around her belly beautifully. "You're gorgeous."

"As are you, but I'd like to think you've been told already," Angela says playfully, and glances briefly at her best friend.

Brennan opens her mouth to speak, but decides against it and smiles at her friends instead. She stares into the huge saloon that begins a few meters from where they're standing. The large doors are wide open and she can see the decorations in golds and blacks along with dozens of couples already dancing, tables fully succumbed occupying half of the room's space.

"Where are the others?" Booth asks, joining his partner as he considers the room as well.

"Cam's dancing with Paul, same with Sweets and Daisy, the rest of the squinterns are at the bar, and last time I saw Wendell he was outside with his girlfriend," Hodgins says and takes a sip of his drink.

Angela gives him a look. "I hope you know you're the designated driver tonight."

"We can always call a cab," he tells her and places a kiss on her cheek.

Booth grins at the dynamic between the married couple and watches Hodgins finish his drink and offer his hand to his wife. She takes it without a second thought and they both head to the dance floor. The agent looks at his partner from the corner of his eye and lets out a sigh.

"Who would have known Wendell had a girl, huh?"

"Actually," she begins, and turns to face him, "Mr. Bray brought her to the Jeffersonian once. Fresh remains were taken to the lab and he got the call from Cam while being out on a date with her."

"And he brought her to the _lab_?" Booth scoffs. Talk about a ruined date.

She raises an eyebrow. "Yes, that's what I said."

"How come I didn't know about this?" he asks, laughing. "We even play hockey together sometimes."

Brennan knows why he didn't know about her grad-student's girlfriend until now, just as she knows why Booth never found out about the week when Sweets and Daisy broke up three times, or about the time Hodgins and Angela fought about all the toys the artist was taking with her to work and didn't spoke to each other in one and a half day, which Angela explained to her as an 'eternity'. It's a very simple reason, really, and very understandable too: whether they want to remember it or not, there was a time, a few couple of months in which he didn't take late calls from work, or talked to Sweets more than he had to, or stopped by the lab at all.

She gives him a vague but genuine smile. "You know now, isn't that what counts?"

"Yeah, maybe," Booth mutters distractedly as he stares into the half-illuminated saloon in front of them. "So, we gonna stand here all night or are you ready to start making something fun out of this?"

"What do you mean?" she asks back, completely clueless.

He gives her an amused look and tries not to think about how nervous he suddenly is. "Dance, Bones. Do you wanna dance?"

Brennan smiles and takes the hand he's offering her without any hesitation. "Sure."

They head to the dance floor, stopping a few times to say hi to other agents Booth knows and Brennan has met through the years, but the Special Agent makes sure the stops are precise and concise. After all, the voice in the back of his head has already started to remind him that she won't be his all night. He steers his partner through some couples and to a part of the dance floor where they find a spot that's less crowded than the rest of the room, and Booth is happy to arrive there just in time for what seems to be the first slow song of the night.

His eyes scan the rest of the people in the lounge quickly before placing both hands on the small of his partner's back and, just as he drags her a bit closer to him, he catches Sully and Perotta on the other side of the floor. They're dancing too, and the blonde is whispering something in the agent's ear. Booth smiles for himself, feeling a bit less guilty when he sees the easiness with which the two friends and partners fall into each other's arms, even if it's just for a dance. If they can do it, why can't he?

As they begin to dance, he tries so hard not to cross any lines when it comes to her that he hardly notices the way Brennan throws her left arm around his neck and places her right hand by the end of his shoulder, only to turn then her head to her right and rest it on his clavicle... Sure, he doesn't notice at first, but when he _does_ notices, his heart seems to take a sudden break from beating. Holding her close to his body, her head finding support on his shoulder, the scent of _her_ impregnating his senses... What is this, if not the best feeling in the world?

"She's here," Perotta whispers into her partner's ear.

Sully smiles at her words. "I know."

"Why are you still doing this?" she asks, concern all over her voice.

"What? Dancing with you? I'm not that bad at it, am I?" he asks back, his gaze flickering from his feet to his partner. "You've never complained before."

The blonde agent gives him a look. "You know what I'm talking about. This," she says, nodding toward the anthropologist across the dance floor. "Brennan. Why are you still onboard?"

"Darling, you've got to stop thinking that way," he warns her with nothing but affection running through his voice.

She frowns as he spins her around slowly, and when they come face to face again, she asks, "What way?"

"Stop thinking of life as if it's only a single-act play," he says with a slight shake of his head. "We've got thousand, millions of acts, of little scenes, of interactions and characters. Don't worry about the next part of the play, enjoy the part you're living now."

She scoffs. "You're just trying to downplay it because you don't want to admit what's really going on."

"And you're just worried that she might take your place as my friend."

"Best friend," she corrects him quickly, and doesn't even bother to deny his accusation.

Sully smirks at her correction. "Right," he says amused. "Well, whatever that brain of yours is telling you, you should know up front, it's a pile of crap."

She lets out a sigh. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"That's nothing you have to worry about."

"I really hope so, Sully".'

Meanwhile, across the room, Brennan does her best to try to hear if her heart stopped beating or if it's the exactly opposite – if it's beating so fast she can't even feel it. Booth's hands resting on the small of her back and around her waist, and him dragging her closer are things that have happened in the past; they've danced before, but never has she felt like this. And her head finding refuge between his neck and the end of his shoulder felt _so_ natural, so meant to be that it scares her immensely – more than she's willing to admit. She closes her eyes in an attempt to shut the confusion out of her body and mind, and lets herself be guided through the dance floor with silence doing its own little dance between her and Booth. It all feels so familiar. _He_ feels familiar; he feels like... Like home. Her eyes fly open as soon as the word crosses her mind. Luckily for her, the realization is kind enough to hit her with what could counts as perfect timing as it's almost synchronized with the end of the song; something Brennan doesn't doubt to take advantage of. She loosens herself from her partner's grip – perhaps a little bit too sudden for the agent not to react.

"Something wrong?" he asks right away, concern flying across his chocolate eyes.

"Yes," Brennan replies automatically. "_No_, everything's fine," she hurries to correct herself, and glances at the glass doors at the other side of the room. The terrace, that's exactly what she needs. "I– I just need some air."

"Okay," he says, dragging the word as he studies her, still worried about her behavior. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, that's fine." She doesn't want him to worry about her but she's also pretty sure she's failing miserably at driving his concern away. "I'll be back soon."

And just like that, she turns and walks away from the dance floor, from him and the moment they just shared together. He watches her leave the room as she walks through the glass doors that connect the saloon with the terrace. His mind reminds him that during this kind of parties it's usually always crowded there, and the protective part of him relaxes a bit, though not entirely. But she wants to be alone, and he'll always make sure to give her what she wants.

Outside, Brennan silently thanks whatever it was that caused the outdoor area to be empty, even though the probabilities of that happening were very low considering all the people attending the party. She takes a deep breath of fresh, icy air and supports herself on the low steel gate that separates the terrace from the beautiful and huge garden full of fruitful, large shrubs. After some minutes, she hears footsteps approaching her, but doesn't look up until the man in question also rests his body on the gate.

Hodgins gives her a smile and looks up to the sky. "Beautiful night, isn't it Dr. B?"

"Yes," she agrees, looking up to the twinkling stars. "Very beautiful." She turns to face her colleague. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing at all," he shrugs, still smiling. "Just thought you could use some company."

"I appreciate it," Brennan says softly.

He grows suddenly serious as he tries to think of the best way to word his thoughts. Finally, he decides to just go with what he has. "Do you still have the note?"

Brennan turns her head to the side and stares at the entomologist for a fraction. Out of all topics, she never thought he would bring this up, but oddly enough, she doesn't feel uncomfortable about it. "Yes," she says at last, with a nod of her head. "You?"

He nods, too. "That was some wicked situation we were pushed into."

"Do you..." Brennan hesitates for a moment, afraid that his answer might be different than her reality. "Do you still have nightmares?"

"Yeah," he admits, and swallows with difficulty. "What about you?" he asks, and when she gives him another vague nod, he makes a pause to take some deep breaths. "You know, I didn't even show Angela the note," he confesses, and looks down to his hands. "I guess I didn't think it was necessary."

"I can see why," she says, her gaze going back to the garden.

Hodgins smiles in advance. "Because you didn't give Booth your note either."

She looks at him in surprise as her lips part slightly. "How did you–"

"I just knew," Hodgins shrugs, and places his hand on hers. "You know, Brennan," he begins, hoping that his use of her surname will let her know how serious he is about what he's about to say, "sometimes, the best way of getting rid of the nightmares is learning how to live with them," he tells her softly, and removes his hand from hers. "Just a thought," he adds, and turns to leave.

She stares at her hand for a fraction, and before he walks through the glass doors and back to the party, Brennan spins on her heels. "Jack?" she calls him back, causing him to turn and face her one last time.

"Yeah?"

The anthropologist gives him her most genuine, grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Always," he assures her smiling as well, and gets finally back inside.

Brennan walks over to the building's large, cool brick wall and leans her back against it as she blows out a sigh. This night is proving to be more exhausting than she thought it would be and she's not even halfway through it. Maybe she should just head home after the dinner's over – after all, both Sully and Booth said the awards weren't that important, and she could _really_ use some time to think through things right now. She closes her eyes for a moment, and tries at the same time to turn off all of her senses and compartmentalize for the sake of her sanity, but a violent breeze finally convinces her of going back inside. Only problem is, when her eyes flutter open again, the garden and its infinity are no longer part of the view. Instead, her gaze catches something dark and edgy aimed directly at her.

"Shh," Montgomery whispers, his forefinger traveling to her lips and brushing them. "Not a sound, you understand?"

–&–

**A/N: **Whaaat did you think? I would love to read your opinions, specially since I'm already working on the next chapter. I tried really hard to stay in character during this one, but I'm not sure if I succeeded, lol. Oh, one more thing. I don't know how much of attention you guys pay to the Sully-storyline, but when it comes to the case he's working with I feel like I should clarify some things, mostly because it kind of hit me that I haven't been clear about that at all, lol. So basically, Sully goes back to the states, finds the brother of one of the victims and with his help, he locks the murderer to Washington where he comes face to face with him, but the killer gets away (the flashback in this chapter). What happens next, then? Well, he doesn't give up, but keeps trying. That why (in the previous chapter) he tells Brennan that 'they found him', thinking that he had, in fact, founded the killer. Instead, he has an encounter with a woman that has been leading him _away_ from this man on purpose, and ends up getting stabbed in the chest as she tries to escape – and succeeds (this chapter). Lol, I really suck at explaining these things, but I hope you understood 'cause that case is going to start to play an important roll in the lives of our beloved characters.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note: **First of all, I noticed I haven't thanked you guys for the reviews and hits in a while and I felt really bad. So, here it goes: Thank you guys! They make me as happy as always :) Second, is anybody else out there going crazy with the story-alert-and-notifications e-mail problem? Is it broken? Are they going to fix it? 'Cause it feels pretty useless to put story alerts on some stories when I'm still forced to come check fanfiction to see updates now that I'm getting the mails like three days after. Third (and I warn you, I'm still in cloud nine), did you hear the news about Em Desch?3 How awesome isn't that? I'm seriously still freaking out about it, so happy for her! Okay, moving on before I squee all over the place. Fourth, curious to see what's gonna happen to Brennan? Then all you have to do is scroll down 'cause here's the new chapter! Lol, no but seriously, chapter number 13 is here and I, as usual, hope you enjoy it :)

PS. It's really late here and I didn't have time to read through the chapter, so I trust you guys to tell me if there's any mistakes.

**Disclaimer:** Bones' not mine, tra la la.

–&–

"Hodgins," Cam calls out as she, Paul and a man in his forties approach him and the rest of the team, including Booth and Sweets. "This man is here to see you," she explains, and gestures toward the anxious stranger.

"Atwood?" the bug expert asks in surprise as soon as his eyes scan the man's face. "What are you doing here? How–How did you even know I would be here?"

"We've got our ways, Jack, you know that," Atwood answers quickly, and casts a glance at the people around. "We need to talk," he announces, and, without waiting for an answer, he walks back to the hallway and away from the crowd and the music, closely followed by the group.

Once they stop, Hodgins takes a look at the man in front of him, and loosens his bow tie nervously when he catches the man's expression. "What happened?" he asks, not bothering to dance around the subject.

"You were right," Atwood says in a low, shaky voice, all eyes on him. "He's–He's out of his mind. After I got your message, I started to hear around, because, really, he has behaved strangely lately, but we never thought–I never thought–" he takes a quick breath, "I mean, sure, we've seen odd things, but this–The things we found out he has said, and–And his locker at the base was full of–Full of... It was..." He doesn't finish the sentence but looks down in shame.

"Atwood," Hodgins calls him, failing to get the attention of the man in front of him. "Seth!" he tries again.

Booth interferes in the conversation for the first time and snaps his fingers in front of him. "_Hey_! What did you find?" he asks, making emphasis on every word he utters, threads of threaten running through his voice.

Seth looks up quickly and takes another breath. "Pictures. All over his locker. Articles, books, interviews. Pages and pages of information," he tells them at last, and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Jack. We had no idea, you have to believe me."

Terror flies across Booth's face as he starts to put the pieces together. He takes a step back and mirrors Atwood's previous action, running his fingers through his hair as his eyes start to scan the lounge quickly.

"Information about _who_, Seth?" Hodgins asks, afraid of the reason the man in front of him is behaving like this.

"About the anthropologist that works at the Jeffersonian. Your colleague, Doctor B–"

"_Brennan_?" Cam and Angela cry at the same time, horrified.

"Where is he?" Booth demands to know; but when all he gets back is stammering, he grabs Atwood by the shirt, lifts him up in the air and pushes him against the wall. "_Where is he_?"

"Booth!" Sweets shouts as he tries to get in between the man and the agent without much success.

"I don't know!" Seth cries. "We went to his apartment but he was already gone. That's why I– That's why I thought I should inform you about this. I'm so sorry... So sorry..."

Booth lets Atwood fall back to the floor, turns immediately around and starts heading to the terrace with determined, large steps.

"Seeley!" the pathologist calls him, but turns to look at the rest when the agent ignores her. "What–Where is he going?"

"I-I left her outside, about twenty minutes ago," Hodgins explains regretfully, and looks in his wife's direction as he starts to realize how long Brennan has actually been out of everybody's sight. "I didn't know, Ange. We talked for a while and then I went in, I didn't think she was in any–"

The artist shakes her head. "Don't." She lifts her hand and places her palm on his cheek, caressing it with her thumb. "Don't do that, Jack."

His bright, immensely scared eyes tell her about the gratefulness he's unable to put into words; and, refusing to waste any more time, he turns to look at Paul. "There was nobody else out there," he adds.

"Cam, Angela," Paul begins, "look in the bathrooms, she could be there. Jack, Lance, come on."

Both men nod anxiously and follow the doctor through the crowded room, but before they get outside, Hodgins' eyes catch someone a few meters from where they are. "Wait," he begs Paul, and walks over to Sully and Perotta who are chatting with a group of people, probably other agents.

Hodgins drags the agent carefully to the side and explains the situation as quickly as he can while he points to the glass doors incessantly. Sully's expression changes from confused to terrified in a fraction – and before the scientist is even done talking, he's already running toward the doors, pushing away whoever gets on his way.

Booth's chocolate eyes search through the terrace over, and over, and over again. He shouldn't have left her alone. He should have gone outside with her, even if she didn't want him to. He shouldn't have pleased her, he should have insisted. He should've– He should have protected her. Where is she? It's only been more or less quart an hour since Hodgins came back inside, where did she go, _where_ did he take her? Is it possible that they're already on their way somewhere else? And in that case, where _is_ that somewhere else? His brain tries to think of a connection between the three previous victims, anything that could be useful. _Victims – _such a rough word. No, she'll never be that, she'll never be a victim because he'll make damn sure he finds her before _anything_ happens to her. But where is she, _where is she_?

"Booth," Sully shouts from behind him. "Booth!"

"I can't find her," he says desperately, without even turning to look at his colleague who's now standing next to him, panting. "I can't– She's not here. I mean, she _should_ be here, but she's not. She's gone"

"We'll find her," Sully says, trying to convince both himself and Booth. "It's only been a few minutes, look, maybe she went back in," he says, and casts a glance at Paul who shakes his head indicating that Brennan is nowhere to be found inside.

"He had–" the sniper begins, feeling disgusted already, "he had pictures. His locker. Full of 'em. He was after her the whole time. I should've known. I should've–Why didn't I see that?"

"Booth, look at me," Sully demands. "Look at me! I'll search the parking lot," the agent says, but his colleague's eyes are everywhere but meeting his own. "I'll search the parking lot," he repeats, raising his voice to get the other agent's attention. "Search the garden, alright?" Booth nods his head vaguely. "Alright?" he repeats.

"Yeah," Booth agrees, his mind bouncing drastically back to reality and leaving the horrible scenarios of what might happen to his partner if he doesn't get to her in time. "Yes, the garden. Alright," he watches Sully run pass Paul, Hodgins and Sweets and disappear inside. "Find Cullen," he orders the three men, "Hodgins, you know what to do," he adds, and runs into the darkness of the huge garden, desperate to capture her silhouette with his eyes, somewhere, _anywhere_.

It doesn't matter, he thinks, it doesn't matter that he can't be with her the way he wants to. Nothing matters, nothing but being able to find her, to see her smile again, to steal a glance from those pale blue eyes – not once, not twice, but a thousand times more. As his sight quickly adapts to the darkness of what really seems to be like an infinite area with glimpses of green, the former sniper takes silently out his gun and prepares it for what might come next. He takes careful, thoughtful steps, trying his best not to reveal his position, _just in case, _because who knows if she's even there?

While he searches the garden and walks through passages slightly illuminated by the full moon that floats above his head, his mind starts to think, once again, about connections. Connections between the three previous victims, connections between them and Montgomery, even between him and Brennan. She was his target all along, and he didn't even see it. Once his feet take him to the end of the garden where a large steel fence separates the luxury of the hotel with the rest of the city, Booth takes the most anguished breath he's ever taken.

She's not there.

He has her, and they're both gone. Steps approach him, fast, and even though he doesn't know who it might me, he knows it's none of the two persons he has been looking for.

"Someone saw her leave with a man that matches Montgomery's description," says Hodgins' cracking voice from behind him. The agent doesn't answer. "Booth, a guest saw her lea–"

"I heard you the first time," he cuts off without moving from his spot, his fingers clenching around the gun in his right hand. "Did you find Cullen?"

"Yeah, he... He's working on it. Paul's with Angie, Cam and the rest, and Sully already left."

The agent looks vaguely over his shoulder. "To the Hoover?"

Hodgins shakes his head even though Booth is unable to see it. "He and Perotta are on their way to check her apartment. Listen, I know it looks bad but we'll find a way to..." The rest of the sentence fades away as the agent turns around and starts to walk back to the hotel.

"I'm going to the bureau," Booth informs him as he passes by Hodgins' side. Normally, he would be the one searching her apartment, and the thought of someone else having the right to do it makes him feel, not only useless, but like a complete outcast. "Take Angela home, she shouldn't... It's not good for her to get upset."

The scientist follows him, hot on his heels. "She can stay with Cam and Paul. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not." Booth stops and spins around in one swift motion. "This isn't some kind of fun field trip you can sign up for, Hodgins, so _back off _and let the _cops_ do their job," he declares, his features going harder, rougher.

"I left her alone, too," the bug man says in what no longer is a cracking, but a very firm voice. "I left her, just as you did. We're _all_ in this together, Booth."

The agent stands still for a few seconds, taking in the other man's words and trying to make a decision. Something about the way in which Hodgins reminds him that he doesn't have to deal with this alone tears him apart; and his own 'there's more than one kind of family' crosses his already confused mind at the speed of light. Finally, the determination in the scientist's eyes is what convinces him. "I don't care what happens, I'm not giving you a gun," he says and points at him repeatedly. "_I_ will be your gun. You understand?"

Hodgins nods his head eagerly and, soon after that, they're both in the car on their way to the Hoover. Unlike the silence that had taken over his and Brennan's drive a couple of hours ago, the one that comes in between both men now hovers in the air like a burden.

* * *

Booth hits Hodgins' chest with three thick folders. "Take these and read through them," he orders the bug expert and goes around his desk. "They're the files on the victims."

"Alright," he agrees and sits down on the chair next to the little table near to the door. He opens the folder on top of the others, but before his eyes begin to examine each word printed on the sides, they travel up to the agent already sitting behind the desk. "Are those Montgomery's files?"

"Yeah," Booth answers distractedly, his gaze refusing to leave the page in front of him. "I'm gonna check 'em again and see if I can find anything that could tell us where Bones is, you do the same with the ones I gave you," he says, although he's quite sure that Hodgins won't get anything out of those folders filled with information.

His brain may not work as fast as Brennan's, but the agent is not oblivious to his ability to draw lines, _connections_, between the different actors in a crime. On their way back to the Hoover, and before Sully called him telling what Booth already knew–that his partner wasn't in her apartment–, he went through the files of the victims mentally, a task that wasn't difficult at all since he had been examining them for the past three days. There is nothing there that could give them a lead because they have been approaching the case wrong – thinking that, in case something happened to Brennan, she would be "just" another victim. They never thought of her as the main target, and, in an attempt to keep his sanity, Booth tries to convince himself that there wasn't anything pointing in that direction, and that that's the reason even _he_ failed to see through Montgomery.

"She's tougher than you think, you know?" Hodgins breaks the silence after what seems like an eternity of reading and waiting for news about Brennan. "She's probably gonna find a way of helping us get to her."

"You see," Booth begins, looking up from the desk, "problem is, she shouldn't have to. It's my job to– We're partners, and..." He doesn't really know how to end the sentence. "Just... just check the files and look for anything useful, we probably don't have much time."

_If_ they have any time at all, that is. They've been at the Hoover for about twenty minutes now, minutes in which anything could have happened to her. No, he has to stop. Those thoughts are _not_ allowed to enter his head. _Block them_, he thinks, _block them out and focus for God's sake_. But how can he focus when he's not getting anywhere? He hates, absolutely _hates_ it – sitting there, reading through files. Acting in such a _passive_ way when all he wants is to hit the brains out of Montgomery.

"That was Sully," Hodgins says, pulling Booth out of his thoughts.

The sniper looks up just in time to watch Hodgins toss the phone on the little table. He didn't even hear the phone ringing, let alone the conversation he and Sully apparently just had. A lump forms in Booth's stomach as he tries to ignore the voice inside of his head that's telling him about how everybody else is _out there_ and he's _just here_. _Somebody's gotta be here_, he thinks.

"They checked the lab," Hodgins continues, dragging the agent back to reality again. "She wasn't there either."

Booth lets out a bitter chuckle and shakes his head. "Of course she wasn't."

This isn't about her and _her_ world, it's about Montgomery and his sickness. _It's about the attention he's receiving_, Sweets said a couple of days ago when he came to the agent's office with the–at that time, unknown–murderer's profile ready and analyzed. Granted, they now know for sure who the killer is and the circumstances have certainly changed, but Sweets' analyze is still valid. Besides, if he's been after Brennan for a while, it means he's not gonna treat her like the others victim. This time is more special for him. Booth shivers at the thought of the word, a word that when connected with Montgomery, gets distort and gains a whole new meaning. A scary meaning.

"Listen," Hodgins begins and stands up from the chair, causing the agent's eyes to travel to him. "I'm just gonna go call Ange." He jerks a finger over his shoulder and toward the door. "She made me promise I would keep her updated."

"Yeah, sure." Booth nods his head vaguely. "Go ahead."

The scientist throws him a sad smile before exiting the room and turning to his right. Both men know that, if they had found anything, Hodgins wouldn't mind making the call there in the office, but since there's nothing hopeful to say to his wife, he wants to do it in private and far from Booth's earshot. He blows out a sigh as he reads through page number seven, again. There's just information about Montgomery's childhood, how can that in any way be helpful right now? What is he missing, what is he not seeing? How can he not be able to save her from this like he's done before?

His eyes wander to the folder resting on the surface of his large, wooden desk. Born and raised in Washington, went to numerous schools, graduated without any honors whatsoever... Booth flips the page. There's got to be something; maybe a name he didn't thought was relevant before, or a place his brain didn't pick up. _Anything_. He buries his face between the palm of his hands and tries to rub away the part of him that's still too worried for Brennan to stay in focus. After less or more half a minute, he raises from the seat and heads to the toilets. It doesn't seem like there's anyone besides Hodgins (whose dark silhouette he can see a few meters away from Charlie's office) and him in the building – but then again, everybody's probably still at the party. Once inside the bathroom, he studies his own reflection that's staring back at him from the mirror, and gets a sudden and slashing flashback from when he'd done the same on his way to Brennan's apartment, just a few hours ago. With a groan, he turns on the tap and bents down a few inches as his palms bring the icy water to his tired face – a perhaps unconscious attempt to put an end to the heated fight his brain and heart are having at the moment.

Laying both hands on the edges of the sink, Booth shuts his eyes and makes a proper mental summary of everything he knows so far. Thousands of facts run cross his mind at the speed of light as he tries to match the profile with Montgomery's file the best he can, and Sweets' words from earlier that day come to him, bouncing their way back.

"_...What makes him dangerous is that he's not afraid of causing harm. I mean, the methods he uses..." the psychologist said, referring to the way in which the bones were cleaned. Sweets trembled slightly at the thought of the pictures he'd seen. "He's extremely meticulous, Booth, and there's _got_ to be a reason behind that."_

"_A reason that remains unknown since we're not sure about his identity yet," Booth said, and put down the small, red boll he had been playing with since Sweets came to his office. "Are we talking serial?"_

"_Three victims in less than one month according to Dr. Brennan's calculations of time of death," he said, and shrugged with his shoulders. "Yeah, I'd say it's definitely a serial killer."_

"_Right," the agent said, simply. "Anything else?"_

_Sweets nodded his head and straightened himself in the seat. "What I was talking about before, the reason behind it all, it's gotta be..." he began, but made a short pause before he continued. "I mean, think about it: the similarities between the victims, the way they're being murdered... There are too many common patterns. There's clearly a purpose."_

"_You mean he's not in it for the fun?" Booth chuckled bitterly._

_This had to be one of the worst cases that had been assigned to him in a long time. The victims were cruelly murdered, the squint squad was hitting dead ends and, on top of that, his partner was under a murder threat. Week of the year._

"_I think that whatever that reason is, it's personal," Sweets said with a proud–and perhaps not so appropriate–smile. "That's why I don't believe this is the work of some secret society."_

_The agent looked over to him, earnestly. "What about Montgomery? Does he match the profile?"_

_Sweets shook his head. "I can't tell without checking his file."_

"_Charlie has been working on it, I'll talk to him and make sure you get the file by this afternoon."_

That had been the plan, but since everybody, including himself, went home earlier due to the FBI party, the file never left Booth's desk where Charlie left it a few hours ago. Everything Sweets had said made so much more sense now. A reason behind it, a purpose, patterns. _Personal_.

"Damn straight it's personal," Booth says through clenched teeth, and heads back to his office.

* * *

Her wrists hurt from the tight grip in which her hands are tied behind her back, and she's having difficulty to breath after having tried to set herself free constantly for the last few minutes. As if that wasn't enough, the wall she's leaning against is moist and the ground feels cold against her body. She looks around the dark room one more time, her eyes already adapted to the lack of light in there, and her brain makes yet another weak attempt to function properly. As she tries to catch her breath, Brennan looks up to the low ceiling, her head heavy and pounding because of the anesthetic; and she goes mentally through the events of the night. Besides the wrists, she can feel the non-stopping, stinging pain of what she believes is a deep wound on her left thigh – possibly a result of her struggle with Montgomery before he forced her into the trunk of the car and induced her to sleep with ethyl chloride. Brennan chuckles bitterly as she remembers the strength with which he was able to, not only tie her hands firmly, but also brush off her attempts to fight him as if he'd been tickled. _Typical sociopath_, she thinks, and lets out a groan when she feels another wave of pain wash over her.

"Feeling out of shape, aren't we?" she hears the mocking voice from the doorway. "I bet someone like you isn't used to having such a slow brain, yeah?"

Brennan removes her eyes from the ceiling and looks down just in time to catch Montgomery glaring at her with a sick smile on his face. Instinctively, she shoots him a glance of rage before looking away, not really feeling in the mood for making eye contact with her kidnapper. The lack of interest from her side doesn't bother him though, as his next move is to walk over to her and squats down so that their faces are approximately at the same level, even though she still refuses to meet his eyes. He tilts his head to the side, studying the woman in front of him.

"You're scared," he says with a confident, brief laugh. "You've got not idea where you are or how long you've been here, much less if you're gonna make it out of this alive." He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head amused, only to let his hand travel to her chin and turn her head so that she's looking at him directly. He grows serious. "In case you want an answer to your question: you're not," Montgomery tells her, his fingers tracing now her lips. "Which is a shame since you're so damn pretty."

She doesn't say anything nor lets the man know how disgusted she feels by his touch. The only thing she gives him is a confident smile. One of the valuable things the last six years have provided her with is enough experience to know that most murderers tend to reveal their motives along with their intentions before acting upon them, and since Montgomery doesn't seem willing to give any further explanations, the rational thing to assume is that he's either bluffing or that he's not about to do anything yet. After a couple of seconds, Brennan turns her head to the side again, breaking the contact between his fingers and her lips.

His hand lingers in the air for a fraction before he lets out a scoff and stands up. "You'll start talking soon enough," the man promises as he approaches the doorway. "Trust me," he says, and closes the door behind him.

* * *

He swings the heavy doors open and practically runs through the cold, almost empty parking lot until he reaches his car.

"Booth, wait!" Hodgins shouts after him, and starts jogging in his direction when Booth doesn't slow down. "There's a _what_?"

He opens the car door carelessly. "Cabin," he says, hastily. "A cabin in the woods, 30 km outside of the city," he explains, and gets inside the car.

Hodgins gets into the SUV as well, and he does it just in time for the agent to pull out of the parking lot and drive out of there and into the Washington night. The scientist is about to ask for more information when Booth starts speaking again.

"I don't know how I didn't thought about that earlier," he says with remorse and shakes his head briefly. Booth casts a glance at the confused man sitting next to him and a winning half-smile forms on his lips. "Summer 1993, Daniel Montgomery had been living with his mother's sister for a couple of months," he explains, and turns the car to the left. "His parents had been having money problems so they made an arrangement with Montgomery's aunt, a woman in his forties who had a teenager daughter."

Hodgins glares at Booth, not really sure of where he's going with the things he's saying. "Okay..." he says, dragging the word to show his confusion.

"Apparently, this girl named Sara and Montgomery became really good friends, best friends actually. According to what people said about her, she was incredibly smart, beautiful and caring. Everybody loved her."

"What happened to her?" the bug man asks, having picked up on the past tense Booth is using to refer to the girl. "Is she–"

"Dead? Yeah," Booth cuts him off, his voice becoming darker. "Murdered, that summer. Her ex boyfriend, a guy named Marcus, confessed to the crime, claiming she was too loved and therefore didn't deserve to be alive."

Hodgins gasps in both surprise and indignation. "You kidding me, right? That's s–"

"Sick, yeah, which is why he was locked up in a mental institution instead of going to jail," he explains, gulping with difficulty. "That's not all. By the time she was murdered, Sara had just finished her first year of college," Booth continues, casting a brief glance at the scientist. "Guess what she was studying."

Hodgins looks at him with wide eyes. "Anthropology," he breathes, and the agent's nod tells him he is, unfortunately, correct. "God, that can't be good," he says and straightens himself on the seat. "But why Dr. B? Because she's the best? I mean, what the hell does she has to do with anything?"

Booth grabs a folder from the compartment on the car door and hands it to Hodgins. "Open it."

He obeys without hesitation and, once he opens the folder, the first thing his eyes catch is the picture of a young woman with auburn hair and a bright, piercing gaze. Her cheek bones are strong and her nose is thin and defined, and she has vague but genuine smile decorating her lips.

"She looks like–"

"Like Bones when she was younger," Booth finishes the sentence, his hands tightening the grip around the steering wheel. He'd seen old pictures of her when she first gave him her parent's files and asked him to look into their disappearance, and even _he_ had been shocked by the resemblance between her and this girl named Sara. "That would easily explain why he's been after her."

Hodgins frowns and shoves the folder down to the car floor, next to his feet. "I don't get it. If he thinks Dr. B resembles his cousin, wouldn't he want her to live?"

"Not if he thinks he's keeping her safe by killing her," Booth answers automatically and thinks about how proud of his psychological view on the situation Sweets would be. "You see, that way, nobody else can hurt her."

"And the cabin?" Hodgins hurries to ask since he still doesn't know the connection between Montgomery and the place they're headed to.

"That's where Sara was killed," the agent explains. "It's abandoned now but it belonged to Marcus' family before." He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and tosses it to Hodgins. "I need you to call Sully and explain what's going on."

Hosgins grabs the phone from his lap and starts searching through the contact list. "I don't understand," he says, shaking his head, and tries to think of a way not to make the agent feel guilty for what he's about to ask. "How come we didn't know about this earlier?"

"Sara's murder was briefly mentioned on Montgomery's file on the family history pages, but something Sweets said about these murderers being personal made me want to look more into it," he says, remembering how his head had been a lot more clear after he'd gone through his conversation with the psychologist. Once he had gotten back to his office, everything went smoother, and soon after that, he was ordering Hodgins to follow him as he made his way out of there and down to the parking lot.

"So," Hodgins begins, with the phone already pressed against his right ear, "basically you listened to your gut and hit the jack pot."

Luckily for them, Sully picks up almost immediately, and he and Hodgins maintain a brief conversation during which the scientist asks Booth for a more concrete address and tells the other agent everything he needs to know as fast as he can.

After hanging up, he hands Booth the phone back. "They're on the other side of town."

"What?" Booth exclaims, looking out through the car window to see if they're driving on the right direction. "_Dammit_, what the hell are they doing there?"

"Cullen ordered them to check Montgomery's apartment. They're leaving now."

"We can't wait for them," Booth groans, frustrated. "The sooner we get there, the better. Alright, listen, Hodgins," he continues, and turns to look at his co-pilot briefly, "There are no car roads there, so I'll park a bit from the cabin, and I need you to wait by the car."

"What?" he protests, shaking his head vehemently. "No, no way! I'm not letting you do this alone. Are you mad? What if something happens to you?"

"Then you'll be able to show the way for Sully and Perotta. I have a map," Booth says, confident in his plan. "I can buy us some time with Montgomery until you guys get there, but I can't wait for them to meet us up."

Hodgins gives him a sad look, a look that the agent misses since his eyes are focused on the road. "You need to see if she's okay," he states, empathy running through his voice.

He casts a short glance at him and lets out a sigh. "I just–I want to... If she's–"

"It's all right," the bug man cuts him off, saving him the pain to say the thought out loud. He if someone recognizes the look on Booth's eyes, that fear mixed with love is something painful, yet beautiful to see. "I get it," he adds, nodding his head, and lets silence take over them for the rest of the ride.

* * *

According to her calculations, it's been more or less half an hour since Montgomery exited the room. Her mind is definitely clearer now, and she could even bring herself to stand up from the ground a couple of minutes ago despite the pain she feels on her thigh. She tries to search for an escape way with her eyes, but gives up when she realizes the room is not only small, but also lacks windows. The door would be her only possible option – that's if it wasn't locked. She sighs out of frustration and thinks about how inconvenient it is that she's starting to feel hyperactive, not the best timing in the world perhaps. Suddenly, a noise from the door takes her away from her thoughts, and after a second or two, Montgomery's back in there.

"Come on, get out of the room," he says, waving his gun in the air.

Brennan studies him as if she were studying a pile of ancient bones. "Why?"

"Look at that, she talks." He smirks and walks over to her. "Now," he begins, placing one of his hands on her shoulders, "are you going to move or do I have to force you?"

She smiles back at him, determined not to give him the privilege of getting to her. "That won't be necessary," she says, loosening herself from his grip, and heads then to the door, closely followed by him, who never ceases to aim the gun at her. "You know, killing me it's not going to do any good."

He chuckles. "You think so?"

"Even if I'm dead, they will find you," she assures him, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "Booth will find you, and you'll spend the rest of your life in jail. You _will_ pay."

"Yeah? Well, at least you'll be safe," he mutters in response.

His words make her freeze between the hall and the living room. "Safe?" she asks, taken aback and genuinely confused.

"You know what?" He pushes her with the gun so that she starts walking again. "I liked you better when you were in mute."

* * *

Booth walks through the dark, silence woods the same way he'd walked through the hotel's garden a few hours ago: cautiously and prepared, like only a sniper would. He knows the cabin has to be there somewhere; according to the map he left in Hodgins' hands, it isn't that far from where the bug man is now. He knows, deep down, that going by himself is not the best idea and that he should probably wait for back-up. But he's waited long enough already, and taking Hodgins with him is not an option. If something happens to the soon-to-be dad, Booth will never forgive himself, it's as simple as that. And if he can find her _and_ the son of a bitch that has her and teach him a thing or two... Well, let's just say he's not going to waste the opportunity if he comes across it.

He keeps searching for a couple of more minutes, until something shiny lying on the ground catches his attention. He walks over to the spot from where the tiny, sporadic light is coming and bents down as he supports himself on a tree. There it is, waiting for him to pick it up. The earring. The black, shiny earring he'd seen her put on just a few hours ago in that delicately manner of hers. He feels his heart clench inside his chest at the memory – a sequence of images that seem to have happened so, so long ago. His fist closes around the earring before he stands up again and tosses it inside his pocket, relief washing over him now that he knows for sure that he's on the right track. Finally, after another few minutes, he spots a poorly illuminated cabin and increases the pace. His feet stop right before the porch, and he tries the best he can to hear if there's someone inside.

Montgomery, however, saves him the trouble of searching the place. "Took you a while to find us," he greets him as he leaves his hiding place from around the house with Brennan walking reluctantly in front of him, the gun always pointing at her.

The voice causes Booth to immediately turn to his left, his pistol prepared and hovering on the air, ready to shoot. He doesn't say anything, but takes a quick look at Brennan. He feels so indescribable happy to know that she's okay even though, he can tell that her clothes are dusty and that there are traces of blood down her leg. He also notices that she's gagged. The second their eyes meet, she nods her head vaguely, trying to tell him that she's fine. Booth's eyes assure her that he gets the message and he goes then back to focus on Montgomery.

"What's going on? Did the cat eat your tongue?" the man mocks him. "I guess you ain't so cocky outside the interrogation room, right Agent Booth? Or is it the gun I'm pointing at the beautiful scientist's head what takes your breath away?" he asks, pressing the gun harder to the back of Brennan's head.

"I'm warning you," Booth begins. "Put the gun down. Put it down", he repeats. "_Now_."

"You know, all I have to do is pull the trigger and, _oh_, she's gone." His words comes out in a sing-song voice that make Booth's hands itch with the desire of actually pull the trigger. "I would recommend _you_ to put your gun down now, Special Agent Seeley Booth. That's if you don't want to witness something _very_ unpleasant," he warns the agent, and tucks some of the anthropologist's hair behind her ear.

Booth's features go rougher in a fraction "Don't _touch_ her," he says harshly, and tightens the grip around his pistol.

"Leave the gun on the ground," Montgomery orders him, nodding toward the agent's feet. His voice is now filled with threaten.

The former sniper obeys reluctantly and lets the pistol fall from his hand, making sure to meet Brennan's eyes as he does, as if trying to tell her that no matter how bad it looks, he's going to get her out of there.

"What is it about her, anyway?" the man continues. "I mean, she _is_ very beautiful. And smart, I've heard. Successful, too, according to almost every article that's ever been written about her."

Booth does his best to feign surprise. The things Atwood mentioned earlier already gave him the idea that Montgomery has been paying attention to every movement in Brennan's life, but he obviously doesn't want him to know how much he knows about the whole situation. He needs that advantage.

"Oh, didn't I mention it? The doctor here has been occupying my mind for a long, long time," he says with a wicked smirk embedded on his face. "You see, when you're as famous as she is, it's hard not to get the attention of someone like me. But that wasn't enough, as you may understand. Dreaming about her..." he says, and makes a pause. It takes all of Booth's willpower not to make some drastic decision after hearing those words. "... though _quite_ satisfactory, it wasn't doing it anymore. So, she had my attention. How could I get hers?"

The agent contemplates his next move cautiously. He wasn't expecting anything sexual involving Montgomery's motives, so even though he tries not to show it, he's a bit taken aback. However, dragging in sex into the whole thing could be his way of downplaying the situation, something Booth thinks could be possible given everything he has been able to find out up until now.

"You killed those girls," he states at last, trying to sound as neutral as he can.

"And I made damn sure there was nothing but _bones_ left," he confesses, and the way his lips utter the little word makes Booth sick to the stomach. "Genius, I know. It was like taking a candy-bar from a child. All I had to do was... put on the charm mask." A quite malicious laugh escapes his lips. "If you think about it, it _is_ sort of hilarious. There we have these three girls; incredibly smart and gorgeous girls that, by the way, claimed to be very rational, and... What was it, half an hour later maybe? Yeah, half an hour later, they're crying for mercy just because they forgot to listen to the rational part of their brains that told them _not to go home with strangers_."

Now Booth isn't so convinced that this could have much to do with Sara's death. The way the man in front of him acts and speaks keeps telling him otherwise, but part of him still believes there's got to be more than that. Maybe he's right, or maybe he's just trying to fool himself. Either way, he needs to keep buying time.

Brennan, on the other side, has now started to fear for both her and her partner's life. The things she had been able to rationally deduce while being locked up in that dark room a while ago are now part of a logical reasoning that would mean Montgomery's words were true: she isn't going to make it out of this alive. And now that Booth is here, neither will he. They're getting a confession from him, a confession that all of a sudden equals a dead sentence for them.

Booth lets out a groan. "You son of a bitch."

"Ah, ah, ah," the other man says, again with that singing, infuriating voice. "I wouldn't be so impolite if I were you. After all, I'm still aiming a gun at the Doc here, and you don't want to be hold responsible for her tragic fate, do you?"

"Let her go," Booth demands hastily. "Let her go or I swear I'll–"

"You'll _what_?" Montgomery cuts him off, mockingly. "Hunt me down and snipe me while I sleep? Surprise, surprise, I've done some research as you can see. Thing is, when I do my homework, I always make sure I do it right. That's why I still can't understand... You two have been working together for years, and still..." He drags Brennan closer to him, although not without having to fight her down first, and smirks at Booth. "I mean, I don't know how you do it, 'cause I would've jumped her bones _ages_ ago."

That's what does it for him. "Don't you _dare_ talk that way about her!" Booth jumps, and takes a step forward that doesn't seem to intimidate the other man at all.

"It can't be that you don't think she's hot, because you'd be a damn fool in that case," Montgomery continues, determined to provoke the agent. "And you're no fool, are you? Do you find her attractive, Agent Booth?" he asks, but gets no more answer than a death glare. Booth is _not_ about to fall in the trap. "That's what I thought. So, basically, you want her, but you can't have her. Why is that? What can be the reason for you not to taste her the way we all know you want to taste her? Oh, _now_ I know," he exclaims, feigning a sudden revelation. "The one reason that could complicate it all. Could that be... love? Is that so? Do you love her?"

And it suddenly hits him. Everything Montgomery has said up until now has been his foreplay to this exact moment. Love is, according to her killer, the reason his best friend and cousin got murdered and now he wants to know if the woman he's holding hostage fits the parameter. Somehow, Montgomery has ended up playing Marcus' part in some twisted recreation of Sara's murder; and Booth, Montgomery's.

"You don't have to do this," Booth tries, testing the waters. Bringing up what he knows wasn't part of his initial plan, but now it's the only thing he has left. "Listen, Daniel," he continues, "I know this is difficult to understand but Bones– Temperance, she isn't Sa–"

"I said _do you love her_?" the man repeats, clearly running out of patience.

Booth locks his eyes with Brennan's, and tries desperately to read her expression without much success. Her eyes are widely staring right into his soul. "This is between you and me," he says, looking back to Montgomery. "She's got nothing to do with it."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. And man, are you wrong. But if that's the way you want it..." he says with a smirk, and in one incredibly quick motion, raises his arm and smacks Brennan on the side of the head with the gun.

A muffled cry reaches Booth's senses as she collapses on the ground, and he takes an automatic, furious step forward – rage and insanity pumping through his veins. However, he freezes before Montgomery has the chance to stop him, reminding himself that the man standing a few meters from him is still aiming a gun at his partner, and could still have a clear shot at him. Down on the ground, Brennan manages to sit up, propping herself on the leg that isn't injured, and feels something warm and liquid running down the side of her head where she just got hit. She shuts her eyes hard and opens them wide again in an attempt to block out the pain her body is experiencing.

His fists clench harshly, and Booth tries to sound as calm as he can even though the rage has barely settled down. "If you ever lay a single finger on her again..." The rest of the threaten is left to hover in between them.

Montgomery holds the gun firmly with both his hands, and without ceasing to point at the anthropologist lying on the ground, he fixes his eyes on Booth. "Answer!" he orders, obviously loosing what's left of his temper. "Answer or I swear you won't even have time to say goodb–"

"I don't!" the agent shouts, giving up at last.

He knows that the probabilities are low, that at this point his words aren't going to change anything, but if there's even a remote possibility that diving into this sick game might save her life, he's going to do it. Montgomery has already given him a roll, and now it's up to him to show, in a way that the man can understand, that this isn't eighteen years ago and that history doesn't have to repeat itself. If that means he has to lie to both of them and deny his feelings so that this man doesn't think Brennan is loved at all–wicked as it sounds–he will.

"I don't," he says again, looking straight into the man's eyes.

A grin forms on Montgomery's lips before they part. "You don't _what_?"

"I don't love her," Booth clarifies, and attempts to glance at Brennan but decides against it when he realizes he won't be able to meet her eyes. He needs to be believed, by both of them. "I've–I've never loved her and I never will. She's nothing more than just my partner," he adds, fighting the urge to take everything he just said back. "Now be a man and leave her out of this."

He shakes his head, leans down a bit and grabs Brennan's wrists, pulling her up with him. "No. She needs to be safe."

Booth takes another step forward, getting more desperate by the second. Finally, he decides to go with the last option he has. "I get it, okay? She died and you had no control over it. And now... Now you're the one in charge and _you_ are the one who calls the shots." He swallows with difficulty, fearing the possible consequences to his next words. "But you're not him," he says, and watches Brennan wince when the gun is pressed to the side of her head where she was hit before. "You're not Marcus!" the agent jumps.

"Shut up!" His fingers trace the trigger dangerously. "Just _shut up_. She needs to be safe, she needs to b–"

"She's not Sara, dammit!" Booth shouts, causing their fates to change in the fraction of a second.

Montgomery freezes briefly at the sound of that familiar name, and the second Brennan feels the pressure of the gun against her head decreasing, she elbows him, making him drop the gun on the ground. Booth reacts immediately, leans down and grabs his own pistol just as Montgomery attempts to take his back. Brennan tries to kick it away, but he's faster and manages to grab it. Suddenly, the agent hears his name being shout through the cloth with which she's gagged, and pulls the trigger as Montgomery, who's shakily aiming at Brennan, does the same.

And then, two shots; two shots and two bodies that fall to the cold ground.

"BONES!" he cries, and runs over to her. "Bones!" he tries again, collapsing on his knees next to his partner. "Bones, _please _wake up, please don–" He sees her stir, and helps her clumsily to sit up as he silently thanks his God for her being alive. "Are you okay?", he asks, quickly untying her hands and pulling the cloth over her head so that she can speak "Hey, you all right?"

Brennan tries to catch her breath before meeting his gaze, and when she finally does, Booth smiles at her despite the shadows of fear that refuse to leave his eyes. She nods to let him know that she is, in fact, okay, and that Montgomery's bullet obviously missed her.

She glances then briefly at the still body lying a few meters from them. "Is he...?"

"Yeah", Booth says, gulping.

Knowing for sure that they're both out of danger, she presses her forehead against his shoulder, exhausted, and Booth automatically wraps his arms around her and holds her as close to him as he can. "It's alright, Bones. Hey, it's okay. I've got you, okay? I've got you. It's over now. I'm right here," he assures her over and over again in an attempt to convince not only her, but himself too.

After a while of sitting there in silence, Brennan pulls away and looks up to him. "I wish you didn't have to save me all the time," she says softly and gives him a half-smile.

"Hey, I wasn't there when you beat up those armed guerrilla guys," Booth reminds her with another smile. "The way I see it, I owed you this one." He shrugs with his shoulders, jokingly. "Besides, you've saved mine too."

"Booth..." she begins, unsure of what to say next. Instead, she holds the gaze for another moment, and just as she's about to finish her sentence, a noise from the woods drags them both out of their own little world.

The noise evolves soon to what they discern are clear, hasty footsteps, and without saying anything else, Booth helps his partner up from the ground. It isn't long until they see Hodgins running toward them, closely followed by Sully, Perotta and a whole back-up team.

It's in that same instant, when he's completely certain that her fate is no longer in his hands, that Booth allows himself to finally breathe and properly take in the events of the night. He goes through them in his head quickly, and despite his attempts to block those feelings out, one of them stays with him, like a constant reminder of his actions and the decision he has to make.

"Dr. B!" Hodgins calls her as he approaches the partners. "Thank God you two are okay," he says, panting. "We heard some gun shots and then–"

"We're fine," Brennan assures him with a vague smile and casts another glance in the direction of Montgomery's lifeless body. "We're fine," she repeats, and when she turns to face her colleague, she sees someone else standing next to him. "Su–"

"Like hell you're fine," Sully protests, and pulls her into his arms, careful not to hurt her. Brennan closes her eyes and allows herself to get briefly lost in an embrace that has become scarily familiar over the last few months. Sully, however, is the one that puts an end to the moment, and pulls away her softly. He places then both his hands on her shoulders and looks at her in the eyes. "Did he do anything to you? Are you hurt?"

"I have a flesh wound on my left leg, and I'm fairly certain they'll need to stitch the side of my head," she informs him, very matter-of-factly. "Besides that, and the temporary trauma in the wrists, I'm okay."

Sully nods his head as he takes in her words. "Paramedics will be here any second."

"Booth," Perotta calls him softly, laying a hand on his arm. "Are you injured?"

He shakes his head and speaks up for the first time since the agents and Hodgins got there. "He didn't do anything to me," he clarifies, and finds himself avoiding Brennan's worried eyes.

"I'll go call Angie and the rest," Hodgins announces, his voice filled with relief. A couple of seconds later, he's a few meters away from them, pressing the buttons on his phone.

"Paramedics are here." Perotta says, eyeing the arriving team. She casts a discreet glance at her partner, and when he looks back at her with pleading eyes, she turns to the anthropologist. "Dr. Brennan, I think it'd be wise if you let them examine you. Come, I'll go with you."

Brennan nods her head distractedly and tries unsuccessfully to meet Booth's eyes before letting the blonde agent guide her to the paramedics. Once the agents are left alone, Sully is the first one to talk.

"Listen, Booth," he begins, not really sure of how to word his thoughts or his gratitude. "What you did for her today–"

"We're partners," the agent cuts him off. "That's what you do for your partner."

Sully rubs the back of his neck. "Booth..."

"Take her home," he says simply. It's more of an order than a simple suggestion, and, without waiting for any answer whatsoever, he turns around and starts to head back to his car.

Brennan watches her partner leave as one of the paramedics applies pressure to her leg and recommends her to go to a hospital so that a doctor can take care of the stitches and maybe give her something to sleep through the night. All she manages is a vague "yes" as Booth slowly disappears between the thick threes.

* * *

"Here you go," Sully says, and hands her the pills and a glass of water. "This should do it according to the prescription you got from the doctor." Brennan swallows the pills, drinks up most of the water and puts the glass down on the coffee table, all this while being observed by the agent. "Are you sure you don't want to lay down?"

She turns her head to face him and gives him an annoyed look. "Sully, I'm fine."

"Could you just stop saying that?" he asks tiredly, sitting next to her on the couch. "You got _kidnapped_ today."

"I'm... I'm aware of that," she murmurs in response.

He lets out a bitter chuckle. "You got kidnapped and you're injured, and you should _really_ get some rest instead of staring blankly at that computer screen," he tells her, but his words are only followed by silence. "Brennan, _please_."

A yawn escapes her lips before she has the chance to say anything else. "I think the medication is starting to have effect."

"Either that or you're tired, which wouldn't shock me at all," he states, and shifts position in the couch so that he's half-laying on it, his back leaning against the arm of the couch. "Come here," he orders her, opening his arms.

To his surprise, Brennan obeys without arguing, and a couple of second later he has her between his arms, her cheek resting on his chest. He knows it won't be long until she falls asleep, and he's also more than ready to carry her to bed when the medication kicks in and she finally does.

"Sully," she calls him after several minutes of laying there, and her voice tells him that at least the Vicodin is already having its effect.

"Hmm?"

Her words come out in a murmur. "Do you love me?"

"Yeah", he whispers. No hesitation, no second thoughts. "Yeah, I do."

* * *

His fingers barely get to brush that fourth glass of scotch when it's snatched out of his hands. He looks up in disbelief and irritation, but his features soften as his eyes catch the familiar face. She puts the glass down on the counter, enough away from him for Booth to understand that he's going to have to give her what she wants before he gets it back. She takes the seat next to him and gives the agent a encouraging look.

"Care to explain what happened out there?" Cam asks him softly. "It's not like you to do that."

He lets out a groan, but decides to play dumb for as long as he can. "Do what, Cam?"

"Leave it up to others to make sure she's safe after what happened today," she says simply and going straight to the point. Brutal honesty, as always.

Booth stares at the collection of old whisky and gin bottles by the counter. "She's got plenty of people looking our for her." He reaches for his glass and takes a sip.

"That's not what I meant, G-man, and you know it." Cam knows that she'll have to push her friend's buttons in order to find out what's going on, but she was somehow prepared for it. "Come on. Talk to me."

The agent takes another sip. "I lost it," he says, and turns to look at her directly. "Outside, on the terrace of the hotel, before Sully came out. I lost it. I-I couldn't focus, all I could think of was... God, if something had happened to her–"

Cam lays her hand on top of his. "You saved her life, Seel," she reminds him with a warm smile.

He shakes his head slowly. "I can't risk that again," Booth confesses in a low voice. "I can't lose her. And God, I have to be able to do my job."

"What's..." she begins, but makes a pause to analyze her old friend's expression. "Seeley, what are you trying to say?"

"I... I need some time off."

"You mean from work?"

He lowers his gaze and stares at the almost empty glass trapped on the grip of his hand. "No, Cam," the agent says, and looks up to his friend again. "From my partnership with Bones."

–&–

**A/N: **Comments? Opinions? Please let me know whatever you thought about the chapter :D I really don't know much about psychology or different injuries or how the mind of a killer works, lol, but I tried my best and, I don't know, I'm kinda glad with the results :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note: **Gaaah, this was a hard one to write. I was thinking of making it even longer and add the break-up (yes, the break-up's here. Well, almost here) but then I realized that B&S are not gonna split up as I initially intended to because it'd be too much and I think you would all hate Brennan then and I can't handle the Brennan-hate (I'll explain it to you on the next chapter, lol). Anyway, here comes the new chapter! It deals with the aftermaths of the kidnapping and an old issue between the partners is brought up to the surface (one I'd love the writers to actually bring up, but what to do). Also, there's a scene you'll probably recognize from The Hole in the Heart which totally sucks because I wrote my scene before I even watched that freaking promo, lol. And speaking of real episodes. . OH MY GOD THAT FINALE. I have so many feelings right now, it's sick, but I'll leave you to read now.

Oh, before I forget: THANK YOU for the reviews. You can't imagine how happy I get every time I get a new one, my face literally lights up and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I replied to them as you probably noticed by now :) As usual, I'm posting this really late (I know, I know, I should go to sleep) so if there's any mistakes you know what to do.

Hmm, what else? Oh, right. Enjoy the chapter and pleaaase review :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones tra la la.

–&–

It's too much, too fast, too soon.

Booth lies awake on his bed, his head too filled with thoughts to even consider taking a break and shutting off so that he can finally get some rest. He tosses around, shifts position, rests his arm on his forehead, moves it back to the side of his body. Takes a quick, painful look at the empty space next to him. He blows out a frustrated sigh and replays the rest of his conversation with Cam at the bar over and over, and over again.

_The pathologist's eyes flew wide open at the revelation. The partnership between Booth and Brennan had been threatened before, yes, and if she looked at it objectively, even severed when they ran off to different parts of the world. But this? This was Booth, the one who always jumped whenever a threaten to their partnership was left hovering on the air, the one who said yes to keep working by her side even after she'd rejected him, telling her late in the night at a bar that he needed time off. From Brennan._

"_Seeley..." she whispered at last, afraid to say anything else, anything that may sound wrong._

"_I know it doesn't make sense, particularly after today." His voice was soft, yet incredibly firm. "I know I made an unspoken promise, during all these years, that I wouldn't leave her. But I can't, Cam. I need to get away, I need to–" But he stopped himself. His gaze was fixed, yet again, on the old bottles of liquor, and his hand tightened around the glass. "It's not even about Sully anymore," he added in a surprisingly calm voice, and let then out a bitter laugh. "Though I must say it doesn't really help that the guy is so damn perfect all the time. It doesn't help that you can see from the other side of the room how good he is for her, and she for him."_

_Cam shook her head, not in disbelief but to make him stop. What about him? How could he not see how good _he _was for her? What more proof did he need other than the influence he obviously had on her over the years? "You are not giving yourself enough credit, big guy," she said as he gestured to the bartender for a filling with his right hand. "And once again, it's messing with your head."_

"_She just..." he began, having difficulty to find the right words. He took a sip of his now refilled glass and turned to face his friend. "She just gave herself to him, _completely_." He gazed into his glass again, afraid of the vulnerability he knew was going to surround his next words. "No doubts, and certainly no rejections." He let out a scoff and shook his head as he brought the glass to his lips. "I guess it was a little bit about Sully after all," he admitted, and drank up the rest of the scotch._

_She couldn't say he didn't have a point, but even so, whatever way you looked at the situation, whoever side you took, they were both to blame. Cam's hand travelled to his arm again, where she laid it gently, yet still firmly. The words must have been haunting him quietly ever since he found out about Brennan and Sully, and the thought–childish and evil–seemed to have gotten under his skin. _'Why is he enough when I wasn't?'

"_Are you sure about this?" she asked cautiously. They'd all had not only a stressful night, but a stressful week, and the partners in particular had been through a rough couple of months. Making hasty decisions...well, it hadn't worked so well for them in the past. She waited for him to answer, but all she got in response were parted lips and words that refused to leave his throat. "Come on," she said at last. "Let's get you home."_

He's not sure.

He's not sure at all, even after Cam put him in a cab and made him promise to sleep on it. _It's just too much_. Brennan, and Hannah, and Sully coming back. The weeks following his break-up with the blonde journalist and then Brennan getting kidnapped and almost killed. His eyes fly shut at the horrible thought, an unthinkable scenario where she doesn't exist anymore. He brings his palms to his face and tries to rub that fictional reality away from him. She's safe now, she's okay. He, on the other side...

With a frustrated groan, he rolls to the edge of the bed and sits up. Looking over his shoulder, he casts another glance at the empty side of the bed, the one where the sheets appear untouched and the pillow rests unbothered.

Hannah.

Maybe he did need to grieve, even if it was a little bit. He smiles slightly as the image of her pops up in his head. Were they meant to be? No. Is he glad it ended before any of them got even more hurt? Yes. But, does he miss her? Absolutely, and–_selfish as it is_–specially on nights like this one. He feels shame wash over him after the silent admission breaks free, but doesn't let the sensation take the best out of him. After all, he's only human. Human, like the life he took tonight, minutes after shouting the biggest lie he's probably ever told, at least consciously.

_Answer! Answer or I swear you won't even have time to say goodb–_

_I don't! I don't._

_You don't what?_

_I don't love her. I've–I've never loved her and I never will._

Had she really believed that? At that moment, when a gun was being aimed at her, he really wanted her to. He wanted her to believe it so bad, because something inside of him was telling him that the only way to be believed was to convince both her and Montgomery. And now...now he can't even remember if _he_ had sounded convinced at all. Maybe his eyes betrayed him, or maybe it was the way he avoided looking at her after the words flew through his lips. Suddenly, he catches himself thinking of signs that could have told her otherwise, that could have exposed his lie to her.

He shakes his head vaguely. She must know it isn't true. After all this time..._she can't not know_. Even when he was with Hannah, even after the Eame's case... There is a reason he said the words 'I've never loved her'. Now he realizes it was his way of secretly tell her not to believe in anything he was saying at that moment. Even if she didn't know he's still in love with her, she's aware of what he felt in the past. Knowing that that tiny part of the sentence isn't true may lead her to conclude that everything was a lie. It's the logical thing to think, and she's a _very_ logical person.

Booth blows out a sigh as he lets his body fall back on the mattress**. **Never has he over-analyzed his actions or her possible conclusions more than he's doing now. He feels exhausted; truly, immensely exhausted. To assure or not assure her about his feelings for her, to break or not to break their partnership. To do anything at all or to let things take their own course, whatever that course may be.

* * *

She wakes up to a gentle knock on her door, followed closely by another one, and another one. Slowly and sleepily, she rolls out of bed, only to be drastically reminded of the wound on her thigh when the injured leg is the one that hits the floor first. Before heading out of the room, she casts a brief glance at the digital watch resting on the nightstand. Almost noon. She can't even remember the last time she woke up at noon, much less the last time she felt so... numb. The pain killers are definitely not worth it if she feels this slow after taking them, she concludes, and heads to the front door after a few more–this time, quite insistent–knocks.

"Oh, sweetie," Angela pushes the door open and pulls her into a tight hug as soon as she gets a sight of Brennan opening. "I was so worried. Thank God you're okay." The scientist smiles to herself and returns the hug the best she can until the artist finally pulls back and lets herself into the apartment. "Are you alone?" she asks after taking a quick look around the place. "No Agent Wonderful taking care of you?"

Booth's face crosses the anthropologist's mind at the speed of light, and although she drives it away with a discreet shake of her head, a disturbing sensation stays with her. She looks up to see Angela staring at her lovingly, and clears her throat before speaking. "No, he... Sully went back to his place this morning. He had to work," she explains, her head now occupied with blurry images of the agent in question kissing her forehead and whispering words of reassurance in her ear early the same morning.

"Perfect," Angela replies with a smile. "Because I come with this," she adds, and holds up an ultrasound picture. Brennan reaches for it, takes it from Angela and squints at it. "I had an appointment this morning. Jack wanted to cancel it – you know, considering everything that happened yesterday, but I told him I'd stop by your place with the picture and cheer you up," she says, still smiling, and notices how her friend hasn't said anything yet. "Bren? Are you listening?"

It takes a few seconds for her words to reach Brennan's senses. She stares at the picture, _really_ stares at it, and feels a wave of warmth wash over her as her thumb caresses the corner of it. If she feels this way now, what will her reaction be when the small, tiny human being finally arrives?

"Brennan?" Angela tries again, worried that she may have done something wrong by showing up unannounced and with the picture.

Brennan looks up to her friend with a genuine smile on her face. "It's beautiful," she says at last, and hands the picture back to Angela.

The forensic artist shakes her head slowly. "It's yours," she says. "I have another one for me and Jack."

"Thank you, Ange," she says sincerely.

Angela gives her one more smile, and studies her properly for the first time since she got there. Brennan is physically hurt, she can see that, but there's something else bothering her, something besides the injuries Hodgins explained about when he picked her up from Cam's place late the previous night.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the artist asks carefully, but still trying to sound nonchalant. Brennan looks down in what Angela perceives as reluctance, so she hurries to add, "I mean, we don't have to, it's probably nothing you want to relive, and it's almost lunchtime anyway, so we could just eat and–"

Brennan cuts her friend's ramble out in a murmur. "I thought he was going to die." She looks finally up again. What Angela had thought was reluctance when she had looked down, was in fact Brennan trying not to sound like she was going to break down at any second. "I really thought Booth was going to die," she repeats, this time with more strength running throughout her voice. "He could have gotten killed, Ange."

The artist gives her a look that's both harsh and caring at the same time. "You could have gotten killed too, Brennan. You were both in great danger," she says, rapidly recalling everything her husband had told her about the previous night.

"Yes, but I was the main target," Brennan says, nodding. "Booth would have been..." She makes a pause when she feels shivers traveling down her back. "He would have been collateral damage."

Angela shakes her head. "Okay, no. Come here," she says, and grabs her friend's hand. She drags Brennan slowly to the couch where they sit down and the artist continues. "First of all, don't get all clinical on me, Bren; and stop using words like 'target' or 'collateral', or even 'damage'," she orders her, and then locks eyes with the anthropologist. "You were really close to not making it out of there, sweetie. So was Booth. Now, you can either stop with the whole objectivity thing or we change the subject. I won't allow you to distance yourself from this, not this time."

She takes a deep breath in an attempt to put some order in her train of thoughts. "Booth shouldn't have been there."

"You don't mean that," Angela says sharply, shaking her head.

"No, Ange, _I do_," she insists, and bits her bottom lip. "If something had happened to him–"

"And what exactly do you think was going through _his_ head from the moment we noticed you were gone 'til Jack and the others arrived to the cabin? Brennan, if something had happened to _you_, he would've never forgiven himself. Ever."

The scientist shakes her head vaguely. "It wasn't Booth's fault, Angela. Any of it; it wasn't his fault."

Angela grabs her friend's hand and squeezes it gently. "You, me and everybody else are aware of that, sweetie. But you know him better than anyone, Bren, so _you tell me_ if that's not precisely what went through his head," she says, confident in the truth that comes with her words. "It's Booth we're talking about. You know, your own knight in shinning FBI standard-issue body armor?" she adds with a playful smirk.

Brennan lets out a light chuckle. "Ange..." she says with a smile, and looks down. But as she remembers the situation in which her friend told her that sentence for the first time, five years ago, she grows serious. "Things are different now."

"Yeah..." Angela nods her head, honest as usual. "Yeah, they are. But different doesn't always have to mean bad. Listen, sweetie, I know everything's messy right now, but I really think you and Booth have some serious talking to do."

* * *

None of them see it coming. One minute she's jumping around the scene, singing a song she knows _oh_ so well and enjoying the smiles of her friends as they mouth the lyrics with her; and the next one... The next minute she's kneeling down by his colder-by-the-second body, choking in fear.

Not even his chocolate eyes are warm anymore. They are scared, frightened. So is she. The people around, they... They're afraid, too–the screams are the vivid, slashing proof–but their arms aren't trying to hold him close, _closer_, and there's no thick, dark red blood running through _their_ fingers. No, the blood is in _her_ hands, in her blouse, and it's coming from _his_ chest.

She looks him in the eyes and tells him he's going to be okay. Her eyes travel down to his chest, to the spot her hand refuses to leave, and the amount of blood makes her _sick_, so sick that she forces herself to meet his lost gaze again. More words of comfort. Can he even hear her? He's shaking in her arms. He's shaking, and he's cold; he's so, _so_ cold. His eyes are now locked with hers. His gaze doesn't leave them, doesn't leave _her_, but there's something in it that tells her he's losing the battle.

And she's losing him.

But it can't be, _it can't be_, he's not allowed to leave her. He can't enter her life and just _leave_ her. He can't take a bullet for her and then not survive so that she can yell at him for being so _reckless_, for being so unconsidered, for making her _trust_ him like she's never trusted anyone before. He's not... His eyes aren't even chocolate anymore; they're dark, so dark it takes everything in her to hold the gaze instead of running away from the place, from his almost lifeless body. She tries to apply pressure to the wound, because _that's_ what you do in cases like this, but he doesn't even react. He doesn't react, or wince, or complains because there's a fight going on inside of him and he's losing it.

Two arms pull her drastically up, and before _she_ gets to react, Cam is down there, next to his body. His almost lifeless body. She fights against Hodgins' tight grip and ignores Angela's reassuring, empty words. She fights, she fights like _he_ should be fighting, and manages to escape her friend's grip at last. When she's back by his side, when her arms are wrapped around him again, when she hears a team of paramedics arrive, that's when everything goes black.

Everything goes black until her eyes adjust to the dim lighting that surrounds them. They're alone. It's cold, and they're alone outside the cabin. Her wrists hurt, and so does her head. She can also feel something liquid and disturbingly warm running down her leg. Suddenly, her eyes catch a gun hovering next to her head, pointing at _him_, and she swallows a piercing scream. She swallows a scream because she's gagged, and her wrists hurt because her hands are tied behind her back. And he... He stands there, gunless, because she got kidnapped, and he's there to save her. But he's going to die. They're both going to die, and she selfishly wishes she's the one who goes first, because kneeling down by his cold body is not_... _It's _not_ an option, seeing him go again.

A wicked laugh is the last thing she hears before the trigger is pulled. He falls to the floor in slow-motion, as if his bones are breaking slowly, painfully. And she runs. She's suddenly free from everything that wasn't allowing her to get to him before, so she runs and collapses by his side. They're completely alone in the woods, and he's dying on her, _again_. So she pulls him up a few inches and wraps her arms around him, and her hand lays in that familiar spot on his chest, applying pressure. And she looks at him. She looks at him in the eyes, and tells him he's not allowed to leave her, because that's not what partners do. Partners stick together, so now that everything is over, he has to make it. He _must_ make it. But they're alone. Nobody is pulling her up, nobody is kneeling down by his side, no team of paramedics is arriving. They're alone in the dark, so she yells. She yells the words that seem to be embedded in her mind as more and more thick blood takes over his white dress shirt. _Booth, you're gonna be fine. I'm right here, come on. You can do this, you're gonna be fine. You're gonna make this. _He cannot leave her. He can't... He can't just leave. He has to fight, he has to–

"Brennan," she hears the muffled voice from above, from far away. "Brennan, it's _not_ real," the voice tries again. The whole scene starts to spin around her, around _them_, and everything is getting blurry. Suddenly, he's no longer in her arms, dying. He's gone. "_Brennan_!"

And she's back. Her eyes fly wide open and she sits on the bed, gasping for air. Feeling her heart racing inside her chest. She turns her head to the left and sees him looking at her with worried, yet reassuring eyes, and collapses immediately in his arms, silent tears running down her cheeks.

"It's over," he tells her, and places a kiss on the top of her head. "B., you're okay," he insists. "He's okay too. Brennan, he's fine. Booth's fine."

She nods desperately, and tells herself that Sully is right, that it's been four days, that Booth did _not_ die that night outside the cabin as he did three years ago in that karaoke bar. But her own scared voice echoes inside her head.

_Come on, Booth. Come on._

* * *

_A week_, he reminds himself as he waits for the elevator. It's been a week since he held her close to him and she clung to his body after realizing it was all over. A week, seven days, in which she's been at home–much to her reluctance–and he's been calling her to know how she feels. Short, slightly awkward and sometimes almost too polite phone calls is all he has managed to give her. A huge part of him is grateful that Angela finally convinced his partner to take a some days off, because he knows deep down that that was exactly what he needed too. On top of that, it's been a case-less week, so work hasn't been coming on the way as much as usual. All these things combined and their wicked, ironically perfect timing have given him the possibility to take that desired step back without really taking it entirely.

His knuckles fall on the wooden door. Once, twice, three times. "Bones?" he calls her, softly. It's past nine and he knows for a fact that Sully isn't there. Not that he asked – he's been avoiding the other agent too, but he overheard something about a friendly game between some guys from the bureau tonight. "Bones, you there?" he tries again.

Maybe she isn't home. Maybe she went to the game or somewhere else. He feels slightly foolish for assuming that when she's not with him or Sully, she's got nothing else to do but to stay at home. However, the feeling vanishes as he hears some noises from inside the apartment and then footsteps getting closer to the door. Brennan opens it without any hesitation whatsoever, but he can tell even before she speaks that his visit comes as a surprise. He takes a quick, inevitable look at her from head to toe, and swallows at the sight of the clothes she's wearing. Sweatshirt and yoga pants, her hair in a messy pony tail.

_Perfect,_ he thinks bitterly, _she puts on the most casual clothes in the world and she still manages to look stunning_.

"Booth," she drags him back to reality. He locks eyes with her and sees that she's frowning at him in a skeptical manner. "What are you doing here?"

"Great to see you too, Bones," he says in a weak attempt to joke away the awkwardness of the situation. He fails, of course, so he nods toward the yoga carpet resting on the living room floor. "Aren't you supposed to be resting instead of jumping around and stretching?"

Brennan looks over her shoulder, and turns then to face him again. "I'm feeling much better now," she replies softly, and crosses her arms in a way that tells him she's starting to feel as uncomfortable as he already is. He can't really blame her though, last time they saw each other in person was...well, it wasn't under normal circumstances, even for them.

"That's not the point," he says, shaking his head, earnestly. "You're still injured, you should be–" But he's cut off by the annoyed glare she all of a sudden is shooting at him. A half-smile forms on his lips as he realizes that there are certainly things that never change. "Alright, fine. I just... Are you busy?" he asks, growing serious. "I mean, um... Can we talk? There's something–There's something I gotta tell you."

After she takes in his words along with the tone of his voice, she steps aside and lets Booth in to the apartment. Her eyes never really leave him, not even when she pushes the door close with her back and hands leaning against it. Brennan stays there for a moment, waiting for him to stop pacing her living room. Finally, he goes sit on the couch and, when his eyes meet hers, she joins him and takes the seat next to him.

Booth swallows with difficulty as he tries to remember the words he had planned to say on his way to his partner's apartment, but every single one of them seem to have gotten lost somewhere inside of his head. Her wide, bright eyes study him with both curiosity and concern, and she starts to nervously bit her bottom lip out of pure habit. It's like they're having one of those silent conversations in which she gazes into his eyes and reads him as she's only able to read _him_ – only this time she's having a hard time doing it.

To her surprise and vague relief, Booth suddenly breaks the gaze, looks down, and starts talking. He tells her; tells her about how he _needs_ to be in control when it comes to his job, how she has become an essential part of it but also of his life in general, and how he nearly _lost_ it after he found out she was missing. Because they're _partners_, because it's his _job_ to protect her, because... Because he doesn't think he could go on without her incredibly annoying logic and rationality. Her features soften at the jokingly way in which his lips utter those last words, but his light chuckle and goofy smile are rapidly replaced by a frown and the roughened expression that takes over his face. Carefully to really make himself understood, Booth also tells her about the thoughts that went through his head that night seven days ago at that almost empty bar. He doesn't mention Cam's intervention–he feels it's something quite private and only between him and his old friend–but he does let her know about how this week apart from her has helped him put things into perspective.

After that, he goes silent. He goes silent, and this time, _he_ waits for her, just as she'd done when he first got there and started to pace the room. But Brennan doesn't say anything. Instead, she scoots a few inches away from him–something that makes him feel like his heart just skipped a few beats–and shakes her head vaguely as she looks down to her hands and a frown takes over her features.

"I don't..." She makes a pause. "I don't understand." Her eyes look up to him, and as he stares back into them, he can see her confusion darkening their usually bright, bright color. "You're breaking our partnership off?"

"No." He runs a hand through his dark, messy hair. "No, I was _thinking_ of it, and it wasn't _breaking_ our partnership off, Bones. I just...I needed some time."

Brennan stares at him with inquisitive eyes, her mind traveling back to that particular birthday of his when they sat outside the bar sharing a piece of cake. "Time _and_ space?"

The agent nods his head. "Yeah..." he replies, sincerely. "Yeah. I needed both."

"But why?"

Booth is a bit taken aback by her question but regains composure almost immediately. "What do you mean 'why'? I just told you."

"Is it because of what happened with Montgomery?" she asks. "Angela said that you might feel guilty. And I... I know how much you hate taking someone's life." Her eyes wander back down to her hands for a fraction and then up to him again. "I'm sorry, Booth."

He shakes his head. "No, Bones, it wasn't your fault," he says softly. "Don't make it sound like it was."

"It wasn't your fault either," she points out. He tenses up after hearing her words and looks away. "Booth..." she calls him. "Booth." But his eyes are fixed on the wall. "If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be–"

His head snaps back to her in a fraction. "_Don't_ say it."

"But–"

"Just _don't _say the word, okay?"

It's a plea.

She nods slightly. "You saved me."

"Well, I shouldn't have to save you in the first place," the agent replies sharply, not realizing the way in which she could misunderstand his words until after they're spoken. "That came out wrong, I didn't mean..." He runs a hand through his hair. This is turning out to be even difficult than he'd thought. "I just can't keep putting you in danger."

Brennan looks at him earnestly. "Booth, we already talked about this–"

"Yeah? Well, that was before you almost got killed, okay? I think I get to see things my way now. Listen, just... We've been partners for a long time and we've never really taken a step back, just to breathe for a while. After what happened, I needed that."

A frown takes over her features. "That's not accurate. I've been away on vacation several times and then to the Maluku Islands and you...you went to Afghanistan."

"I was in a _war_ zone, Bones, and you were digging up dead bodies," he reminds her, and lets then out a light chuckle. "I think it'd be pretty safe to say that those weren't exactly relaxing times."

The thought crosses his mind right before her lips start uttering the words, almost as if he could read her mind.

"But you found Hannah there, which could be interpreted as you having time to relax," she says, totally oblivious to the weight her words are laying on his shoulders.

There's no bitterness in her voice, no anger either. _Well, why would it be_, he thinks. _She has clearly moved on from whatever she felt that rainy night_. His jaw hardens, however, at the _oh_ so matter-of-factly tone of voice that comes with her sentence. She's simply stating facts. Can't she, just for once, let him know how she really felt about him and Hannah? He refuses to believe that, after all they've been through, she was completely neutral about it; and what makes him more sure of that is the fact that, when it comes to her and Sully, he has a _lot_ of feelings. On the other side, a disturbing sensation takes over him. The only reason he went to that war zone in the first place–and therefore met Hannah–was because _she_ left him. She ran away, she turned her back on him _and_ their work together. Booth's fist clench, his eyes become suddenly cloudier, and he somehow knows he's starting to lose his temper.

"Well, it still wasn't all fun and games, Bones, if that's what you think," he snaps, and stands up from the couch in one swift motion. "God, you of all people should know that."

She stares up at him, trying to figure out what part of what she said had this effect on him. "I didn't mean to accuse you of not doing your job properly, Booth. I know for a fact that you're an extremely responsible man, at least most of the time."

"_Most_ of the time?" he hisses, incredulously. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Brennan lets out a sigh. "You tend to be quite impulsive sometimes, Booth, which in certain situations has resulted in irresponsible actions."

His jaw drops in indignation, and his hand waves toward her, defiantly. "Care to elaborate?"

She's suddenly on her feet too, standing right in front of him. "You shouldn't have gone to the cabin all by yourself. You could have died, Booth," the scientist explains in her most clinical tone of voice. "Parker is still a child and he needs his father."

"You're kidding me, right?" he asks, laughing bitterly. "You could have died too! I don't regret going there, Bones, because if something had happened to you–"

"What about Parker?" she cuts him off, fiercely.

"And-what-about-_me_?" Booth asks, his voice raising and his right hand flying to his chest. "What about me, Bones, if everything had turned out the way he wanted it to? What about me when you _die_ in his hands?"

Her features soften as he speaks, and she takes a step forward, closer. "Booth..."

"_No_," the agent shakes his head. "You don't get to turn my actions against me, not this time. I am _not_ going to feel guilty about this, so _cut it off_. I just wanted to come clean about what was going through my head, and also tell you everything should be fine now." He locks eyes with her and a challenging spark takes over his gaze. "I'll see you on Monday," he says, and turns around to leave.

Brennan struggles for a moment before deciding what to do, but when his hand grabs the handle of her front door, the words are automatically, almost involuntarily, set free.

"I don't believe I could go through it again," she says, her voice a bit lower than usual. "Not if it happens that way."

Booth turns around slowly, trying to figure out what she's talking about, and raises an eyebrow when their eyes meet again. "Through what?" he asks, skeptical. He's still upset with her because of what she said, but something about the vulnerability in her expression tells him to wait for an answer before saying anything else.

"You, dying," she says simply, and shrugs with her shoulders in a way that makes him melt despite the context in which she's doing it. What he doesn't know is that it's taking all of her willpower not to let her voice crack as she speaks. "You already died once, Booth. You died in my arms, remember?" she adds, and realizes that her attempts to hide the effect those memories have on her are a complete waste of time. "I was–You jumped in front of that bullet and collapsed on the floor."

_Zack! Call 911!. _Hodgins' desperate voice comes back to her so clear and loud that she could almost swear she's back in that karaoke bar if it wasn't for the fact that time-traveling is scientifically impossible. Despite that, despite the science, images of that night start to form in her head, becoming sharper by the second. When her lips part again, Booth is already a few steps closer to her, only inches of space separating them now.

Her lips fall back together. She knows her eyes are watery, and she _hates_ it, hates how fragile she must look; but she's also aware of the fact that there's no way back now, no matter how many tears start to run down her cheeks or how cracked her voice sounds. "I–I tried to keep you awake," she says with another half-shrug and a vague smile. The first tear is now burning down her skin, followed closely by another one, and another one. "But after a couple of seconds your eyes shut, and I felt your heart stop–stop beating under my hand. You weren't breathing, and there was just so much blood that I... I just..."

Of all the things she could have brought up, he never expected _this_ to be one of them. If he thinks about it though, they never really talked about it. They never touched the subject of him dying-but-not-really, and even though he wondered, back then, what she did or how she felt during those two weeks, he never had the courage to ask. After falling victim of her anger at his fake funeral, and also later when she'd broken into his bathroom, he assumed that that was the only thing she'd felt: anger. Anger because he didn't make sure she knew he was alive, anger because of the way she found out, anger because she had to attend his waste-of-time funeral. And he'd been angry, too, because somewhere deep down, he'd hoped she'd feel something else besides rage. But then they lost Zack, and suddenly that was all they could think about. Whenever he thought about it during the time following the end of the Gormogon case, he immediately connected his fake death with losing Zack since they happened so close to each other. That's why, somehow, he'd managed to just bury everything related to both events somewhere in his mind. But she...

He closes the gap between them and places both hands on her shoulders, gently. "Hey, Bones..." he says in a soft whisper.

"No, Booth," she shakes her head, stubbornly. Her eyes refuse to look up to him and remain fixed on his chest as she speaks again. "Your heart stopped beating. You _died_ on me," she accuses him, raising her voice. She can feel the tears running wildly down her face, but that's the last thing she cares for at the moment. "The only reason you came back was because of the CPR Cam performed on you, but then we got to the hospital and you were gone." A sob escapes her lips. "You were really gone." She shakes her head again, and wipes some of the tears away with her arm. "You don't have the right to do that again. I won't allow you to–" She lifts her hand and pokes him on the chest, angrily. "You died on me," she repeats. Another piercing sob, another poke. "Your heart stopped beating. You died on me, Booth, _you died on me_."

Booth flinches at the contact at first, but manages to regain composure rapidly. His eyes close painfully with every poke she gives him, not because she's hurting him but because he's just now realizing how much he actually hurt her. He's somehow glad that she refuses to look up to him because he's not entirely sure he would be able to hold the gaze.

"You don't get to do that again," she repeats. "You can't do that a–"

He grabs her by the wrist gently and lets her hand fall back to the side. She's about to lift it up again when he pulls her to his body, her forehead crashing into his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Bones," he whispers against her hair. "I'm so sorry."

To her own surprise, she doesn't try to loosen herself from him. Instead, she lets the walls break down completely, the sobs gaining force, the tears damping his shirt. "There was so much blood." Her words come in a thin thread of voice. "So much blood."

"I know," he promises, nodding. "I'm so sorry, Bones. I know."

* * *

The sirens of an ambulance rushing through the street along the building wake him up three hours later. He feels a stinging, growing pain on his back and he blinks sleepily a couple of times in an attempt to force his eyes to adapt to the dark faster than they actually can. It takes him a few seconds, but the familiarity of the apartment hits him soon enough, as does the softness and warmth of the small body his arms are still wrapped around. Last thing he remembers after falling back on the couch with her is hearing how her breathing began to get steadier as the sobs decreased and that he made sure to not stop stroking her hair... that's until they obviously and inevitably fell asleep. This is probably the most intimate moment they've ever shared, yet there was nor is anything sexual about it. It's pure trust; trust they've been building for years, that's been shaken, _yes_, but never entirely broken.

He feels a vague wave of warmth wash over him, a feeling that, once he grins and thinks about how natural this all feels, is replaced by a sudden guilt that starts to cut right through him. Not only does he feels responsible for having caused her that kind of pain three years ago, but he also knows that it is up to him to loosen himself from this situation, to escape this moment in order to preserve their partnership. This is as far as he can go right now, because if she wakes up in his arms in the middle of the night and looks up to him with those big, blue eyes... he's just not sure if he'll have the willpower to restrain himself from crashing his lips with hers. If he can't trust himself with that, he better get out of there soon. Besides, and despite everything that has happened tonight, he can't forget about the fact that, precisely one week ago, he was considering taking time off from _them_. So, careful not to wake her up, he somehow manages to slide away from underneath her body and get off the couch, placing the pillow that rested against his back gently under her head in the process. She shifts position as soon as he's out of reach, lying now on her side and facing his body that stands now by the couch; and he stares at her and the peacefulness that surrounds her before grabbing a blanket from the chair next to the couch and covering her with it.

Booth kneels down and considers her one more time. Her breathing is even, quiet, and some of her longer bangs are brushing her eyelids. The agent tucks them gently behind her ear and, before he knows it, the words are flying through his lips in form of a bare whisper. "It was a lie, Bones. I can't tell you-_tell you_ because it would ruin everything again, and because... You're happy now. But what I told him, it was a lie."

He stands up feeling a new form of guilt take over him and, after making sure she's still sound asleep but before leaving the apartment, Booth writes her a note on a post-it note and leaves it on her kitchen counter to make sure she doesn't miss it. The agent grabs then his coat and finally leaves.

They still have so much things to talk about and resolve, but he knows that, right now, this is just enough.

* * *

The sun isn't even entirely up when she wakes up a few hours later and, between a yawn and a stretching of her arms, Brennan sits up on the couch. She feels surprisingly well rested, but it takes her a moment to remember how she ended up sleeping there in the first place. A conversation, an argument, a confession, tears, comfort... Booth. She looks around her apartment, searching for signs that will tell her if he's still there, but the silence that surrounds her assures her of the contrary. With a sigh, Brennan raises from the couch and walks over to the kitchen to make herself some morning coffee.

Once she has the cup of steaming beverage between her hands, her eyes catch something colorful and square lying on the counter.

_Hey, I'm picking up Parker early tomorrow so I had to go, but I'll call you, okay? And stop jumping around the apartment – you need to rest. From what I've heard, Buddha was a very quiet man._

_Booth._

A half-smile forms on her lips as she finishes reading the post-it note. She thinks about the proof that's been found over the years, proof that tells humanity about how a primitive version of what later came to be called yoga already existed long before Buddha, but these thoughts are rapidly replaced by something bigger and way more preoccupying. Booth's scent. She can still feel it, _him_, all over her clothes, her hair, her body. The single word that caused her to run away to the terrace that night before Montgomery found her hits her for the first time since she rested her back against the cool brick wall of the hotel and closed her eyes. _Home_.

She puts the cup down on the counter, suddenly feeling beyond confused, dizzy, anxious. Thanks to Angela's stubborn insistence, Cam's confident assurance that she wouldn't let her come back to work unless she took a few days off and Sully's not so surprising over-protectiveness, she has been more disconnected from the world than she usually is. She's been writing, reading, listening to jazz; doing everything she can think of except for _really_ thinking or re-living _that_ night – the only exception being Angela's visit the morning after, one week ago. Not even Booth's daily, sometimes even for her, awkward phone calls had managed to snap her away from the process of compartmentalizing long enough, and yet, all it takes for her to start listing the events of that night in her head is for him to show up, for them to have an argument and for her to break down in front of him. Again. Just like she'd done that rainy night, only this time he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, _so_ close to him as he possibly could.

The thoughts and recent events fly through her head fast, fast, _faster_, and in a matter of seconds she's managed to scan them all; only two of them now lingering above the rest. Two scenes, two memories that are all of a sudden too sharp, too clear in her head. Somehow, she'd managed to bury them along with the rest of the events of that night, to avoid them for a whole week, but now they're out again, fresh in her mind. Genuine shock travels down her spine in form of a shiver. She'd never realized the tricks her mind could play with her, and she with it.

_You don't what?_

_- I don't love her._

_Do you love me?_

_- Yeah. Yeah, I do._

Both men's voices cut through her painfully, as if she'd been stabbed in her metaphorical heart. Booth loved her once, she knows he did. She knows that, and she also knows _how much_, which is why the image of him looking completely crushed and shocked and asking her _why_ still haunts and crushes her as well. And Sully... she now remembers feeling as if she was going to drift off any second, and blurry images pop up in her head. She asked, _she_ was the one who asked. But his answer was immediate, short and yet, as sincere as it could ever be. He loves her._ L__oves_ _her_. And Booth _loved_ her, once. But still, there is something about the way he never looked at her while or after shouting those words in Montgomery's direction, something that tells her to look back again.

_You_ _say that, but you_ _won't look at me. You're the one who taught me_ _the value of making eye contact._

When they had that conversation by the reflecting pool before parting away, he'd looked at her differently than he had over the years, and he told her things had to change. And they had, things had changed. But if she thinks about it, really thinks about it, Booth's eyes have been glancing in her direction in that old manner, with that old familiar sparkle for the last couple of months, as if they were back to dancing around each other like they did ever since that very first case. Only everything is changed, everything is...

She casts a glance to the couch. Sully loves her; and Booth looks at her like he used to before, when he carried that secret love with him, silently. And she... she's hurt both in the past. She's hurt them, but only one of them has hurt her to the point where she didn't know what to do next.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" he asks carefully.

Brennan glances at him briefly and looks then back down. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Alright," he replies, nodding his head. "Alright. Um, I'll call Caroline and ask her to send over the files so your English squintern can match the facts with the findings and all that jibber-jabber."

"Thank you," she says with a confident smile.

"Hey, I trust you, Bones. If your scientific voodoo is telling you that this," he gestures toward the set of bones lying in the table, "is the son of the senator, then I believe you."

She chuckles. "It's not magic, Booth."

"No need to tell me that," the agent assures her jokingly. A moment of silence takes over the room, a moment in which he studies his partner while she studies the bones in front of her. "How are you holding up?" He clears his throat and supports himself on the edge of the table with his hands. "I mean, are you feeling better?"

"It's been one and a half week since the kidnapping, Booth," she reminds him, and gives him a warm smile. "They removed the stitches, the wound is healing and the trauma in my wrists is gone. I'm fine."

He nods slowly. "Okay. Alright, yeah." There is another pause. Booth's hands travel to his pockets where the right one starts to flip the poker chip almost unconsciously. "So, when is Sully getting back then?"

Brennan's eyes travel up to her partner again. Sully has become one of the subjects they never touch this directly. However, since they both work for the FBI, it would be foolish to think that Booth doesn't know about the call Sully got from Matias Riquelme, the brother of one of the victims who is now living in Miami.

_"It'll only be a couple of days," Sully told her as he picked up some shirts he'd forgotten at her place and shoved them into his bag. "I just wanna make sure he's okay, and then..." he let out a sigh. "Then maybe I have some luck and catch Mendez this time." He turned to face Brennan who has standing by her bedroom's doorway with a half-smile on her face. "You alright?" he asked, concerned. "I hate leaving you like this, but I–"_

_"Go," she cut him off, the side of her head leaning against the doorframe. "You have done more than enough already," she assured him, thinking about how he'd been taking care of her for the past week. "Go."_

_The agent put the bag down on the bed and walked over to her. "It'll only be a couple of days," he repeated, and placed a light kiss on her forehead. "Besides," he added, looking her in the eyes with a vague smile on his lips, "I know you won't be alone."_

_Brennan returned the smile and he headed back to the bed as she looked around the room. Up until then, she'd never realized how many of his dress shirts were hanging in her wardrobe or the amount of ties that lied piled on the chair next to the nightstand. Her eyes traveled back to him as he closed the zipper of the sporty bag._

_"What exactly happened?" she asked, curious. When he'd arrived about fifteen minutes earlier, he'd only mumbled something about picking some things up, catching a plane, and getting to Matías as fast as he could._

_Sully looked up to her, the amused expression on his face revealing that he was waiting for her to ask about the details of the situation. However, he grew serious as he remembered what was going on and why he was about to travel to Miami in the first place. "Laura Montero payed Matías a brief visit yesterday."_

_Brennan frowned and her arms folded across her chest. "Laura, the woman who stabbed you?" He nodded his head. "What did she want from him?"_

_"Nothing," the agent said, and let out a slightly bitter laugh. "It was a warning; she just wanted to scare him. Which she succeeded with, by the way. The kid's a mess."_

_"But how did she find him?" Brennan wondered. "I thought you and Agent Perotta were the only ones that knew about his direct connection to the murders."_

_He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand and guilt flied across his face briefly. "Yeah, that's what we thought, too," Sully confessed. "I just–I don't know how she found him, but I know it means he's in danger, and he must sense that too since he was afraid enough to call me."_

_She nodded slightly and the dark-haired agent grabbed then the bag from the bed and headed to the front door; Brennan following him then slowly through the hall. He put on his shoes and jacket as she stood a few inches from him, studying him discreetly. When he looked up to her with inquisitive eyes–as if he'd felt her gaze all over him–, she bit her lower lip nervously._

_"Something wrong?"_

_She shook her head and tilted it to the side. "Please, be careful."_

_His smile got wider, warmer. "Look who's talking," he teased her, grabbing the bag from the floor. He threw it over his shoulder and turned around to open the front door and leave._

_Brennan took a sudden, yet hesitant step forward. "Wait, Sully," she called him._

_He spun around on his feet with the bag dangling over his shoulder, and he didn't even had time to react before her lips met his. The bag fell from his hand and back to the floor when she put her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her waist, both dragging each other closer as the kiss grew deeper and deeper. He didn't taste like the sea anymore, and hadn't done for a while. Now... now he tasted more familiar. More like them._

_Feeling the urge to catch some air, she broke the kiss panting, and looked then up to him wide-eyed. "When you come back–"_

_"Yeah," he said in a breath, nodding. "Then we'll talk."_

That was four days ago, the same morning she'd woken up on the couch after Booth's late night visit. Sully had been calling once a day to check on her–something completely unnecessary according to her, but still endearing–and apparently they hadn't succeeded with anything else other than finding a safe place for the boy.

"He doesn't know," she answers Booth, and tries to focus in the present instead of in the image of that last kiss with Sully. "They're trying to follow up every lead. I believe it's going to take a few more days."

"Yeah, that's what Perotta said too," the agent agrees. "As long as they don't drive Mendez underground I think they still have a shot at catching him. Good thing she stayed behind though."

Her eyes, that had fallen back to the remains on the table just a few seconds ago, travel up to her partner again. Having Booth at the lab always means he needs someone to entertain him, and that someone is usually her. This time though, she's intrigued by his words. Brennan blows out a sigh and puts the femur she's been trying to examine down.

"Why is it a good thing that she stayed here? They're partners. Aren't partners supposed to work together?" she asks, and tilts her head to the side, expectant.

Booth flashes his charm smile. "You know I'd never leave you behind, Bones. Not that I could do it either, you're kinda impossible to get rid of," he teases her, and bursts into a brief laugh when she gasps in indignation and her cheeks acquire a vague shade of pink. "Kidding, kidding," the agent tells her, crossing his arms. He remains quiet for a moment, trying to word his thoughts. "It's personal, Bones. That thing between Sully and Mendez, it's personal, and that's probably why leaving Perotta here was the best idea. He already lost a partner, that's not something you get used to, and definitely not something you wanna go through again."

As he talks, he thinks about all the people whose death he was a witness of while being in the war zone, both a couple of months ago and before he started working for the FBI. His mind wanders to Teddy and how he still shudders at the memory of sitting on the ground with the young man's lifeless body lying next to him. Brennan, on the other side, hears Sweets' condescending voice loosening itself from that three year old memory along with her own harsh answer.

_It's Agent Booth's funeral, Doctor Brennan. Losing a loved one–_

_A _partner_, Sweets. I lost a partner._

Booth notices the change in her expression and realizes the context in which she must have taken his words. After their talk four days ago, he feels he can take the liberty to assume some things without sounding like he's too full of himself. He walks over to her side of the table and swallows hard when she doesn't even notice that he's now standing right next to her.

"Listen, Bones, hey," he begins, and places his hand om her shoulder. Brennan jumps slightly at the touch and stares first at the spot where his warm hand is laying and then at her partner. "I promise you, what happened three years ago is _not_ gonna happ–"

"King of the Lab, Dr. B!" Hodgins shouts as he enters the room with a cocky smirk on his face. Booth immediately removes his hands from her shoulder and takes a step back. Brennan's gaze lingers in his direction for a fraction before turning to the bug man. "I... I'm sorry, did I interrupt?" he asks, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

"No," the partners say in chorus, Brennan with a serious tone of voice and Booth in what comes out as a scoff.

The agent clears his throat and adds, "Not at all. What have you got?"

Hodgins narrows his eyes at Booth's behavior, but remembers then why he was searching for the anthropologist in the first place. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did," he says, the cocky smirk embedded on his face once again. "It's about the clothing. I recognized some unusual particulates that are known to be found in..."

* * *

The lab is silent as it always is by that time of the evening, when there are only a few employees left and most of the lights are off. Brennan cuts the falafel ball in two and stops one of the bits in her mouth before pointing at the picture lying on the coffee table.

"I told you it was the son of the senator," she says with a proud grin after swallowing her food.

"Yeah, yeah," Booth answers, feigning annoyance. "It still took us two days to close the case after that genius brain of yours figured that out, though."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Hodgins adds from the seat across the couch, "but I believe my unusual particulates were the ones that send us in the right path," he says, and takes a large fry from Booth's plastic plate.

He shoots him a glare. "Man, I'm sorry if I sound rude but shouldn't Angela be done by now?"

"Booth!" she hisses, smacking him on the arm.

The bug man covers his mouth to speak. "Hey, what about her?" he asks and waves towards Brennan. "She's been stealing your fries since I got here and I don't see you casting any death glares in her direction."

"Well, that's because she's Bones," Booth points out. "Besides, no matter how many death glares you shoot at her she's still gonna steal them."

She gasps, offended, and puts her fork down on the table. "That's not–"

The agent gives her a look. "Really? You're gonna deny that after all these years?"

"No, I'm just trying to say that most of the time you–"

Booth stands suddenly up, causing her to lose her train of thought. He holds up a finger indicating her to wait as he grabs his buzzing cellphone from his pocket, takes a quick look at the ID on the screen and presses the green button. "Booth," he answers. "No, paperwork. _What_?... You positive?" The agent casts a glance in Brennan's direction. "How–No, I'm with her," he says shaking his head, and Brennan's attention is caught at the mention of her. Both she and Hodgins are now staring at Booth anxiously. "How did it–" He checks his watch. "Alright... Yeah, we're on our way. Thanks, Charlie," he finishes and flips the phone shut.

"Booth," she calls him. "What happened?"

The agent looks distractedly at Hodgins. "Looks like you're in a rush of luck today. Take the rest," he tells him, gesturing toward the plate of fries, and turns then to his partner. "Grab your coat, we gotta go. Perotta's been shot," he says simply, motioning toward the door.

Brennan looks at her colleague and then back at Booth, trying to figure out why they would need them in particular at the hospital when none of them works directly with Perotta. Hodgins gives her a shrug of his shoulders and Booth claps his hands impatiently.

"C'mon, Bones, move," he hurries her. "Sully's there."

* * *

Booth's hands clench around the steering wheel during the whole ride, and, irrational as it sounds, she can _feel_ him tensing up more and more the closer they get to their destination. He barely gives her any details of Perotta's condition; the only thing he tells her is that, according to Charlie, the bullet punctured one of her lungs and that she's in surgery as they speak. They make it to the hospital in what seems like no time. It doesn't take them long to find the waiting room in which Sully's sitting either, and once her eyes catch him and she starts to walk over to him, Booth slows down in order to give them some privacy.

"What happened?" she asks Sully as she sits down by his side. The agent barely acknowledges her presence, so she casts a glance at Booth and nods discreetly toward the man sitting next to her, indicating her partner to give her a hand. "Sully, what happened?" she insists. "Is Agent Perotta okay? Have you talked to the doctors?" She looks around the waiting room. "Are you alon–"

"She's okay," the agent cuts her off, nodding his head slowly. Brennan turns her attention back to him immediately and Booth is now standing closer to them but still keeping his distance. "I think... I _think_ she's okay," he continues. "I don't know, the doctors–they won't tell me anything. I've got her...".He holds up her badge. "She forgot it at the bureau. I don't know why, she never–she never forgets anything," he says, frowning. "But she forgot it and now she's been shot. She...". His eyes travel to the swinging doors a few meters from where they're sitting. "They said the surgery wasn't going to take long, but I... They've been in there forever. And she got shot. Payton got shot."

"I'm sorry, man," Booth says, sincerely. "Hey, look, she'll make it, alright? She's strong. She'll make it."

"She shouldn't have been alone when it happened. I should've figured out it was a trap," he says, caressing the corner of the badge with his thumb. "Of course I'd take the first plane to Miami if Laura showed up at that poor boy's door. Of course I'd leave Payton behind in order to keep her safe. And of course he'd take advantage of that. God, it was a... It was a..."

The former sniper nods his head slowly. "A trap, yeah. But there's not way in hell you could have known that, so don't beat yourself up. Nothing good is gonna come out of it, is it?"

Sully chuckles bitterly and looks up to his colleague. "Easier said than done, don't you think?"

Booth's eyes travel automatically to his partner who, to his surprise, is already on her way to meet his gaze. Easier said than done for sure. His jaw clenches at the memory of her dark, beautiful dress completely covered in dust and mud, and her piecing blue eyes telling him she's okay get stuck in his mind along with the image of a gun being pointed to her head.

He clears his throat in an attempt to drive all those memories away. "I'm gonna go check with the nurses in case they know something," Booth tells them, and heads to the hall that he and Brennan came from.

It's not until a couple of hours later that they get some real information. Both partners are sitting in the waiting room when one of the doctors in charge of Perotta comes out in his scrubs. He asks them if they're family, and Booth is quick to clarify that most of the blonde agent's relatives live in another state, and that her partner is outside taking some fresh air. The doctor takes then a deep breath and explains the situation for them. She nods her head and Booth asks some standard questions, and soon they're left alone in the room again. They exchange a couple of words before she gestures toward the hall and tells him she needs to go find Sully. The agent nods and watches his partner head outside.

After checking the terrace and the cafeteria, it doesn't take Brennan long to figure out where he must be. Since the elevator doesn't go all the way up, she takes the emergency stairs, just as she'd done that time months ago at the Hoover. And just like that time, once her eyes catch him and she walks over to him, she slides down the wall and ends up sitting by his side as he glances at her from the corner of his eye.

"He's gone, you know?" he says, bitterness running throughout his low voice. "A witness saw him driving down the road to Texas. Probably gonna go back to Central America." She doesn't say anything. "I can't believe... I can't– Payton's been shot."

"The surgery went very well," Brennan informs him. "They're waiting for her to wake up to see if there are any secondary damages. Obviously, she'll have to stay here until she recovers, but she should be fine, Sully."

He doesn't bother to hide the happiness that flies across his face once he hears the good news. However, a quick look around is enough to remind him of why they're having this conversation in the roof in the first place. "It's my fault. Everything's...it's all my fault."

"No, it was a trap," she contradicts him. "It was a trap, Sully. It isn't your fault."

"Yeah, it is. This time it is," the agent insists. "God, I can't lose her too," he mutters, burying his face between the palm of his hands. "This can't be happening. Not again, not Payton."

They sit there in silence until she tells him it's time to go back inside, just in case Booth has managed to get more information from the doctor. He nods his head slowly and follows her back to the waiting room. When they get there, Booth takes a brief look at Sully and silently hopes he'll never have to go through the same thing with his own partner.

–&–

A/N: Good, bad? Tell me everything, all of your feelings~, I want to know :D Next chapter should be up soon. I can't really say _how_ soon, but soon enough :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's note:** So the break-up has finally arrived. This is a pretty short chapter, but my muse wouldn't take me any further, and I really wanted to post this as soon as possible. Hmm, I don't know what else to say, haha. Oh, of course: _thank you_ for the reviews! I answered most of them except for the ones that were anon, but I totally read them all and I really appreciate you taking the time to leave a comment :)

I'm confident on this chapter but still a little bit unsure about the way I'm putting an end to S&B's relationship since I had planned something different from the beginning, so I'd _really_ appreciate it if you tell me what you think about this one!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones, Fox does, tra la la.

–&–

Silence. The tip of a pencil bouncing on the notes pad. Silence. Brief, uncomfortable glances being exchanged across the couch. Silence. Agents rushing through the hall outside. More silence.

The young psychologist sits suddenly straight on his seat. "Okay, enough you two," he orders. "I'm done with the silent treatment. What's going on?"

"What?"

"Nothing, what are y–"

"Everything's _fine_."

"We're _fine_."

"Like hell you're fine," Sweets scoffs and tosses the pad on the coffee table. His eyes flick from one partner to the other, unsuccessfully encouraging them to open up to him. After a moment, he lets out a frustrated sigh and points to Brennan. "You were kidnapped by your own personal stalker." His finger travels in Booth's direction. "You found her and killed her kidnapper." He spreads his palms, exasperation running through his veins. "This is your first week working together after those event occurred. C'mon, guys, you gotta have some feelings about it."

Booth chuckles, feigning amusement. "Whaddya want us to say, Sweets? You read the reports, you know what happened. That's pretty much it."

"Doubtful," the younger man snaps, narrowing his eyes at both partners. "You need to talk about it. Come on – Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, this evaluation is obligatory. You're not getting off the hook on this one. Just tell me about that night," he suggests, and leans back on his chair.

Brennan takes a deep breath as she casts a glance at her partner, who only gives her a shrug of his shoulders along with a defeated smile. Finally, her eyes travel back to Sweets. "As you already know since you were there when it happened, Montgomery found me at the FBI party."

"We still don't know how he got in, though," Booth interjects leaning forward, and gesturing towards the anthropologist. "Bones was outside taking some air when he got to her."

Sweets' gaze leaves his notes pad and focus on the scientist. "Were you feeling ill?" he asks, very earnestly. "Is that why you needed some air?"

"What?" Booth jumps. "No, Bones was fine. We were dancing and then she–"

But the end of his sentence doesn't get pass his lips.

She wasn't fine – in fact, she was acting strange. After the song ended, it was almost as if she felt the need to _fly_ the scene, run from it. From him. He looks at her intensely, trying to read her emotions, whatever it was she felt that night before the worst even had a chance to begin. Brennan feels his eyes on her but does her best to ignore the fact that she's being studied by both the young psychologist and her own partner.

"I just needed fresh air, that's all. I don't understand why we're dwelling on this, Dr. Sweets," she declares, matter-of-factly.

Booth drives the worrying thoughts away with a discreet shake of his head. "Anyway," he continues, and looks back at Sweets, "you already know what happened later at the hotel and how Hodgins and I ended at the cabin, so I don't see the point on repeating things like a parrot, kiddo."

"What can I say? You're totally right," the psychologist agrees with a smile. Both partners look at each other satisfied and make a move to stand up from the couch. "But we're far from done here. Sit down, please," he says with a wave of his hand toward the couch. They obey and collapse back on their seats, Booth letting out a frustrated groan and Brennan firmly folding her arms across her chest. "I'm aware of what happened up until you got to the cabin, Agent Booth, so why don't we talk about how things went _after_ you found Dr. Brennan?"

Sweets rather not force Brennan to talk about the hours she spent alone with her kidnapper; partly because he doesn't want to push her further than he already has and partly because he believes that reliving the events of that night might be less disturbing if he gives them the option of just telling him about the part of it that they went through together. That way, they can help each other, as they always have. Besides, he'll make sure to talk to the anthropologist soon enough.

The agent runs his fingers through his dark brown hair. He's not really in the mood for doing what they're being asked to, but he also knows that if he refuses to do it today, he'll have to humor Sweets tomorrow anyway. "I stayed outside the cabin when I got there, trying to hear if anybody was inside." He glances briefly at his partner and takes a quick, deep breath. "Montgomery appeared from around the corner using Bones as a shield, and we started to talk."

Booth doesn't mention the way his heart was clenching inside his chest during the whole confrontation and Brennan doesn't tell the psychologist about how she was almost certain that both of them were going to die, but they still manage to slowly fill Sweets in on what happened that night one and a half week ago. He listens attentively and nods every now and then, making sure to store everything the partners are telling him in the back of his mind. However, there's something he can't help but notice and that is the casual way in which they're talking and referring to each other; he would have expected them to tense up a bit more, to be more edgy about the subject apart from the reluctance they've already showed. As if they had agreed on it before stepping inside of Sweets' office, Booth manages to–_according to himself_–gracefully skip the part where Montgomery demanded to know if he was in love with the woman now sitting next to him; and the moment Brennan finishes telling the psychologist about the part where Hodgins, Sully and Perotta arrived with other agents closely followed by a team of paramedics, her phone goes off.

"No cell phones during sessions," Sweets reminds her, hoping she will let it go to voice-mail. Obviously, she doesn't. "Dr. Brennan, no–"

"Brennan," she answers.

"...cell phones." The young man looks at Booth, who gives him nothing but a cocky smirk. Sweets lets out a sigh; he has since long suspected that something about the way the anthropologist always seem to be going against him fills Booth with some strange sort of pride.

She asks a couple of questions to the person on the other side of the line and takes a quick look at her watch. "No, I can be there in ten minutes... Yes, I'm certain. Goodbye."

The second she flips her phone shut, Booth turns to face her. "Case?" he asks, maybe a little bit too hopeful, which gains him an annoyed glare from Sweets' side.

"No," she tells him, shaking her head distractedly. "Mr. Nigel-Murray and Mr. Bray need my guidance back at the lab. I have to go."

"You have them both working together?" Booth asks, slightly shocked.

"Cam suggested it would ease the tension between my interns if they worked in teams every once in a while," Brennan shrugs with a half-smile. "I didn't believe it would be of much help at first, but it turns out they enjoy working with someone that's in the same level as themselves." Her eyes flick from one man to the other. "I'm sorry, Dr. Sweets, I really have to go. However, I believe the information Booth and I have provided you with should be enough for you to make a successful evaluation of our current work situation," she concludes, and in a matter of seconds she grabs her coat and exits the room.

Booth remains awkwardly on the couch for a moment until he can't stand it anymore. "Well, Sweets, it was nice talking to ya', but I gotta go too," he declares, and stands up in a quick motion, attempting to leave.

"What was the question?" Sweets asks loudly before the former sniper gets to follow his partner's steps and shut the door behind him. "The question, the one that Montgomery asked you. What was it?"

He turns around slowly to face the young psychologist, his hands traveling to his hips. "Sweets, drop it." It's a warning and they both know it.

"I find it very _interesting_ that you both made sure to give great details of everything _but_ that part of the confrontation."

"You know," Booth begins, narrowing his eyes, "the way you say 'very interesting' is very, _very_ irritating."

"What was it?" he insists to know. "I figure it must have been something that hit close home to him, since his behavior changed from that moment; and to you two too, since you both felt the need to exclude it from our conversation."

"Don't push it, kid."

"It must have been something crucial, I believe, something th–"

"He asked me if I loved her, alright?" Booth cuts him off, agitated. There's a brief moment of silence during which his arms travel up to his chest where they cross defiantly. "He was playing games, recreating the murder of Sara, thinking he was Marcus and that I...that I was him. So, he asked me if I loved Bones. If Daniel loved Sara, if she was too loved to deserve to live."

Sweets nods his head in empathy. He knows about the recreation Montgomery attempted to–as the agent pointed out before, he read the reports–but this part is new information. "You said no." Booth doesn't make a sound but looks instead away and through the window. "Tricky situation, if I'm allowed to say so myself. By saying no, you lie to both of them but also save her life, and by saying yes..."

"That wasn't an option," the agent says in a low voice, his eyes still fixed on the window. "He was going to kill her. Both of us."

"You did what you thought was best, Booth," Sweets assures him, and when the reply from the former sniper's side never comes, he takes it as a sign that the conversation is over. "The reports are on my desk if you still need them."

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "Yeah, Hacker wants me to sign them before sending them up to Cullen." He walks over to the desk and searches through a pile of folders before finding the right one. However, something written on the folder behind the one that's his catches Booth's attention. "Tim Sullivan?" he asks, a little bit amused. "You're Sully's shrink too?"

The psychologist jumps suddenly up from his seat. "Booth, those are private files," he tries.

Booth's eyes fall back down on the folder where they read what's under the name of the agent, his features roughening immediately. "Wait, is that what I think it is?"

"Again, _Agent Booth_, private files. You're not allowed to–"

"_Sweets_," he cuts him sharply off, losing his temper. "I'm just gonna ask you once." Booth holds up the folder. "Is this what I think it is?"

* * *

The voice comes from the doorframe of her office.

"She's awake."

Brennan's eyes travel immediately up and to her left. It's been barely twenty hours since she and Booth were at the hospital, waiting for news on Perotta and making Sully company. When it had gotten too late, both men had ganged up on her and decided it was time for her to go home and get some sleep. She'd refused at first, but it hadn't taken her long to realize that there was no way she was going to win against them, so she'd let Booth give her a ride home while Sully stayed behind in the waiting room. She'd guessed he would stay at the hospital for as long as he could, and his non-existing change of clothes from the day before is proving her right. However, for a man who probably slept in a hospital, plastic chair–if he now slept at all–he looks better than the day before. His hair is messy and he does look tired, but there's something about him, something slightly refreshing.

She throws him a small, yet genuine smile. "I'm glad to hear that," she says, and he simply nods his head in response. "Aren't you going to come in?"

Sully gives her another vague nod and walks over to the couch where his body falls slowly, exhaustively, next to her. Brennan looks down, fearing this is the moment she's been thinking about since she saw him leave her apartment with that sporty bag dangling over his shoulder. Angela's words from the day she'd gotten back to work after that week off hit her while she stares at her hands in silence.

"_Booth went to your apartment?" the artist's voice echoed in the diner, and memories of that night months ago when he'd showed up at her friend's door while she was in the shower came back to her rapidly. "What–What did he want?"_

"_To talk," Brennan said, shrugging. "He'd been having concerns about our partnership, but the week apart apparently helped him to resolve them." She shifted position in her seat, and glanced at her almost empty plate. A moment of silence went by before she spoke up again. "I told him he shouldn't have gone to the cabin by himself."_

_Angela put the fork down and gave her friend a harsh, penetrating look. "I'm sorry sweetie, but _why on Earth_ would you do that?"_

_The anthropologist's lips parted, but it took her a few seconds to find the best way to word her thoughts. Telling Angela what she was about to meant telling her _everything_ – she knew her friend well enough to know that the artist wasn't going to be happy until she'd squeezed the last detail out of her. "I...I've been having nightmares, Ange," she said, and her eyes became a bit cloudier. "I have nightmares about Booth dying at that karaoke bar and then about him getting killed that night outside the cabin. I'm never able to help him. I can never apply enough pressure to the wound, and he always...He's always dying on me."_

"_Sweetie..." Angela reached for her friend's hand across the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. She thought about that night three years ago, the image of Brennan kneeling down desperately next to Booth now rapidly popping up in her head. She also thought about how the anthropologist had already expressed her fears regarding her partnership with the agent once, only _that_ happened right before they ran away to the opposite sides of the planet. "Did you talk to him about it?" she asked softly, hoping this time things wouldn't end up like they did for over a year ago._

_Brennan tipped her head slightly. "I did."_

_She waited for her friend to say something else, but realized after several seconds that she would have to push it a bit further. "Well? What did he say?"_

"_Not much," the anthropologist said simply, but when she caught the look Angela was giving her, she added, "I did most of the talking. Booth just listened and was very," she shifted position slightly on her seat again, trying to think of the accurate word to use, "...comforting."_

"_Brennan," the artist called her friend, raising an eyebrow at her. "What exactly happened?"_

"_We slept together," the scientist replied bluntly._

_Angela's eyes flew wide open_ _and her jaw dropped ever so slightly. "You _what_?" she hissed loudly and incredulously._

_Even though she is one, it didn't take a genius to understand what was going her friend's mind. "N__o, Ange, not like that." She made a mental note to use other–_better_–terms next time. "We literally slept together. We fell asleep on my couch. He was gone when I woke up the next morning."_

_The artist let out a breath she barely knew she was holding and took a few seconds to regain her composure. She then studied Brennan and her slightly flushed expression and decided that, maybe, this was the right time to find out about something she'd been dying to know for a long time. After all, she pretty much had the scientist cornered. "Sweetie, can I ask you a question?"_

"_Besides the one you already asked?" Brennan wondered, and her friend's light chuckle and nod served as an answer. "Yes, of course."_

"_Why did you wait so long before telling Booth about Sully?" Angela asked, growing serious with every word that flew through her lips. "I mean, you guys have always shared pretty much everything. I know he didn't tell you about his break-up with Hannah and to be honest I'm still planning my little revenge on that, but it's just not like you to...hide things from him, no matter how weird everything gets between you two, and specially not when it comes to the men you date."_

_Her lips parted slightly before the answer came out of her mouth. "I...I don't want to talk about it, Ange," she said, and fixed her eyes on the diner window._

"_But you have an idea, right?" Angela insisted, not because of curiosity anymore but because she had been sincerely concerned about her friend's actions and the nature of them. The last thing she wanted was for Brennan to do something for the wrong reasons. "You gotta have an idea, sweetie."_

_Before the scientist had a chance to answer, a waitress came to the table with a cop of coffee for Brennan and a glass of juice for Angela. She gave them both a wide smile before walking away and leaving them alone again. A moment of almost tangible silence settled itself between them._

"_Five days," she said simply. Angela looked at her in confusion, so she elaborated quickly. "Sully and I...it happened five days after the Eame's case. After what I told Booth."_

_The artist was about to beg her friend to explain herself when the words finished to sink in. "Oh..." was the only thing she said at first. Brennan took the opportunity to take some sips of her coffee and avoid her friend's empathetic gaze. "Now I get it," Angela added after a couple of seconds._

_She looked slowly up to her friend and took a deep breath. "I know it doesn't make sense," she said with a vague shake of her head. "It's completely irrational. Booth was in a serious relationship with Hannah at the time and I frankly never expected him to act at all on what I told him that night." She made a small pause, attempting to find the best way to word what was crossing her mind. "Still, when Sully and I met again..."_

"_You didn't want Booth to think you didn't mean what you told him that night," the soon-to-be mom offered, avoiding her friend the pain of uttering her thoughts. "About you having feelings for him."_

"_No, about having regrets," Brennan clarified, her brow furrowed._

_Angela bit her lip to stop herself from asking if both things weren't the same by now. "And then Sully happened," she said with a knowing smile._

He drags her back to reality in a low, soft voice. "We need to talk," Sully tells her, searching for her eyes.

Brennan sucks in a deep breath. "I know."

And she does know; but it doesn't mean she's not dreading the conversation they're about to have. Where to begin, what to say? She's never been good these things, she's never liked them either. She has learned the hard way that hurting someone you care for sometimes stings so much more than being rejected yourself.

Luckily for her, he is the one that takes the initiative. "I..." but he trails off. A light chuckle escapes his lips before he shakes his head, frustrated. "I'm going back, B."

Her eyes snap up to meet his right away, confusion flying across her face. Out of all the things she was expecting him to say, this was _not_ one of them. "What?" she says at last, wide-eyed. "You...You're going after him?"

"I have to," the agent tells her, carefully. "It's the only way to put an end to this."

"No," the anthropologist exclaims, shaking her head. "No, Sully, he's dangerous. He–He's going to _kill_ you."

Sully holds up a finger. "Ah, not if I get to him first," he says with an exhausted smile, trying to lighten up the mood but failing miserably.

"What sort of reasoning is that?" she asks in indignation. "He wants you dead, Sully. Is it–Is it really necessary for you to go back there? Is there anything you can do from h–"

"This is between him and me," he cuts her off. "Matías was in danger, Payton's in the hospital–"

She's the one who interjects now. "You didn't have control over those scenarios. There is nothing you could have done to prevent those things from happening!"

"It's personal, Brennan! _I_ saw him kill those kids, _I_ contacted Matías Riquelme, _I_ got involved with Laura. _I_ am Payton's partner. I am the one trying to catch him. So, as long as I'm here...As long–As long as there is people around me that I care about, B., people that I have to protect...As long as that's the situation, there's always going to be someone innocent who gets hurt. I can't allow that. I _won't_ allow that."

She gets lost in her thoughts before his lips utter the last few words. Images of the last few months keep flying through her head, and she feels a lump forming in her throat. The late dinners at his or her place, the laughs beneath the sheets, the stressed mornings before leaving to work, it's all coming back to her.

"_Where's the coffee pot?" she'd asked once as she searched through the kitchen shelf dressed in one of his wide t-shirts. She stood in tiptoes to have a better look at the top of the shelf. "Sully," she whined over her shoulder, turning then her attention back to the counter. "I can't find it."_

_The sun rays from the early morning were flying through the blinds and into the apartment when he entered the kitchen in boxers; his dark hair being a mess and his eyes still sleepy. "You not being able to find it was exactly the meaning behind me hiding it," he shrugged with a sly smile._

_Brennan gasped at his words. "It didn't occur to me that you were being serious about it," she exclaimed, and spun then around to face him, only to find Sully standing right behind her with the grin still embodied on his face._

"_I'm always serious about everything I tell you," the agent replied, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips as he ran his hand through her hair, ruffling it._

_She gave him a look and pushed him away, trying to make it clear that she was everything but happy about the coffee situation. He laughed lovingly at her and grabbed her gently by the wrist, tugging her back to him and the warmth of his bare upper-body. Brennan blew out a frustrated breath into his chest and looked up to him as he wrapped his arms around her small waist._

"_Where is it?" she demanded to know, raising one of her eyebrows and feigning annoyance._

_He let out a chuckle and shook his head. "Not telling ya'."_

_And then he laughed again._

She knows the first tear is already running down her left cheek as she looks him straight in the eyes. "I can't come with you," she says breathlessly, doing her best not to break their eye contact. Her words contain so much more than what anyone else would assume by hearing them. It's more than a simple admission. She can't go with him, and she can't wait for him either, because this is the day things were going to end anyway.

"For a genius like you, that's the dumbest assumption you've ever made. Not to mention, a very narcissist one," he says jokingly, and shifts position in the couch so that he's now facing her directly. The agent opens his arms and gives her one single, brief nod. "C'mere."

The corners of her lips curl up with a hint of sadness before she succumbs in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest along with her right hand and his chin placed on the top of her head.

He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding before his voice comes out in a murmur that, even if there were other people there with them, would be audible only for her. "I wasn't expecting you to do that. You know, come with me. That day, at your place..." He looks down to her, even though she can't see him. "That was a goodbye kiss, Brennan. You can call me whatever you want, but I know what your lips taste like when we're saying goodbye for good."

Her eyes shut tightly because of the heartcrushing truth that comes with his words, and a wave of guilt washes roughly over her. Was she so obvious, so transparent? Did he know all along was what going through her head that day, the way she had started to feel about _them_? Brennan makes an attempt to look up to him and try to say something, _anything_, but when he feels her stirring, the agent speaks up again.

"Listen first, alright?" he pleads. "I just...I just have to say this out loud. You and me, B., we're great together. What we have..." He makes a brief pause in which he loosens the grip around her a bit, but makes sure to still hold her firmly. Her silent tears have damped the spot on his shirt where her cheek is resting, and he already knows the cracking voice in which the next sentence is going to come wrapped in. "What we have is great in almost every aspect. And I would love to have this, to have _you_ for as long as I could because I love you, B. _I love you_. You know that, right?"

Brennan nods her head repeatedly and a small sob escapes her lips. "I do."

He smiles against her hair. "And it's because of the feelings I have for you that I also realize you'll never feel the same way, not with me at least. That all that love you have to give, it's not for me. And you deserve a chance to give all those things to the right person–because, B., you've got so much to give–as much as I deserve someone whose heart breaks and _heals_ for me."

"I'm sorry," she whispers into his shirt; sincerity running throughout her voice. "I'm so sorry."

She feels guilty, _so_ guilty for having started a relationship with him when she was feeling more vulnerable than she's ever felt in her entire life. But at the same time, it was that same fragility that made her believe that maybe, _maybe_ she could do this after all. Sully showing up that night at the bar after all she'd been through, and him being as broken as she was... She truly thought that perhaps they could make it, despite everything that had been going on between her and Booth.

Her intention was never to trick him, to lead him on to something that wasn't going to end well. Her smiles, the way he made her feel, every kiss she gave him, every touch between them – none of those things were forced. It all felt natural, it always felt natural when it came to them. And now, now she's being held by him, a man who loves her more than she'll ever be able to love him. So she sheds tears. She cries, and feels so incredibly angry with herself, angrier than she's felt in a long, long time. Because it isn't fair, because she's hurting him. _Again_.

"You know," he adds after a moment, "objectively, this is pretty much my fault."

Brennan loosens herself from his grip and shakes her head vehemently as her red eyes travel up to meet his. "No, I should have known that I...That I..." But she stops herself. What can she possibly say that doesn't sound completely wrong? "Us, being together again was..." A bad idea? Something she regrets? No. Yes. No, no, _no_. "It was great," she says at last, throwing his word back at him with a half-smile. "But you are right, Sully, you do...You do deserve more."

"I thought I knew what I was getting into, you know?" He straightens himself in the couch, shifting positing slightly but still facing the anthropologist. "I really thought I had everything under control. That once you were ready, I was going to be able to let you go without...Well, without feeling this way." He lets out a brief laugh. "I have to admit though, that a small part of me wished you were never going to be ready," he confesses, and taps her affectionately on the nose with his index finger. "I apologize for those thoughts."

She looks down with a vague, sad smile formed on her lips. "I don't know what to..." A sigh flies through her lips. "I'm so sorry," she says again.

Sully blows out a breath. "Yeah, me too. But we'll be fine," the agent assures her, and nudges his shoulder with hers, playfully. "You and Booth will be fine, too, by the way."

Brennan gives him a surprised look. "Sully, I..."

"You wanna know why I'm sure you two will get through this?" His hand travels to her cheek where his thumb brushes softly away a few tears from her face. "Because... Because four years ago, when I begged you to tell me what was holding you here, do you remember that?" She tips her head vaguely. "You looked through the two-way mirror to the interrogation room where _he_ was." He lowers his hand slowly, letting it fall on her lap. "Your eyes searched for him unconsciously. And when I saw that, I thought–Well, I _had_ to try one more time before giving up completely, so I did. And you stayed."

A frown takes over her features and she stares at him, as if waiting for him to complete what sounds to her like an unfinished sentence. "Your point escapes me."

Sully gives her a knowing look. "I don't think it does. And even if that's the case, you'll figure it out eventually. I mean, what's the point in being a genius otherwise?" he teases her, causing her lips to curl into a smile.

Silence fills the room for a moment. They can hear people rushing outside the office, the strange mixture of strong and light, clicking footsteps reaching both their senses, like a painful reminder of how life goes on despite what's breaking between them while they're willingly trapped inside those four walls.

_It's over_, she thinks, the lump in her throat growing again. No more bickering about whether or not she should ingest caffeine in the mornings, no more basketball games to watch attentively, no more gentle kisses being trailed from her shoulder blade and down her back. It's all over, and she can't even discern how she feels about it yet. That morning Sully went to her apartment to get his things before flying to Miami... that morning, and after that kiss, she knew what was going to happen when he came back, but that doesn't mean it hurts her less just because she had some days to process it. It's illogical, she's aware of that. It's illogical because preparation is the key to avoid undesired outcomes.

"When are you leaving?" she asks softly, turning to him.

"Tomorrow morning," Sully replies with a half-smile. "I wanted to...I wanted to stay until Payton's fully recovered, but I can't afford to waste any more time," he explains. "The sooner I leave the better chances I have to find him. It's not like he's gonna wait for me or something."

She nods her head in understanding. "Have you talked to her about it?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I did." He bursts into a brief, sort of sad laugh. "She's pissed, royally pissed. But she'll get over it soon enough. I talked to Cullen too and he assured me the FBI will have my back down there."

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought," Brennan points out, thinking that, maybe, both tried to prepare themselves for this moment in their own way. The thought gives her some comfort, but she still knows that out of them two, she was the one with head start, which only makes her feel more guilty. "You've figured out everything."

He considers her for a few seconds before looking down to his hands. "I'm sorry, Brennan," he tells her, and raises then his head only to find her giving him an inquisitive look when their eyes meet again. "I'm sorry for not giving you the chance to say what you had to say."

"It's okay," she assures him.

And she means it. She knows him well enough to know that, even though things are ending mutually, he made sure to make everything easier for her. He looked out for her one last time, and she's incredibly grateful for that, for _him_. At least this time they both seem to be completely sure that they're making the right decision.

She lets her head fall on his shoulder, exhausted. "You named a boat after me," she says softly, a vague smile forming on her lips when he leans his head against hers.

"I would have done the same with a whole flotilla."

* * *

Booth slams the car door rougher than he'd originally intended, anger pumping inside of his body, through his veins and into his heart. Part of him wants to get back in the car and drive as far away from the Jeffersonian's parking lot as he can, but the other part – the part that's winning right now... After Sweets vaguely and reluctantly confirmed what he already suspected was in that folder, Booth spent the next couple of hours in the shooting range trying to convince himself that Sully leaving is none of his business, that whatever happens between him and his partner... it doesn't concern him. It _shouldn't_ concern him. But then why are his mind and heart reacting so strongly to this?

If anything, he should be thrilled. Rationally speaking–and those two words are the undeniable proof of just how deep she has dived into his life–he should be glad because of how difficult it's been for him to see her with another man, and particularity _that_ man. Because no matter how many times he tries to downplay it, knowing that Sully gets to be with her–_really_ be with her–has been killing him slowly for the last months. But instead, he's torn. The agent places his hands on the roof of the car and lets his body lean slightly against it, supporting himself, desperate for some _balance_. By the time he decides that the best he can do is to go inside, find Cam and have her cool him down like he'd planned from the beginning, heavy footsteps cause him to turn around. He catches Sully's familiar silhouette on his way to his car, and all of a sudden anger is pumping through his veins once again.

"You leaving town again?" the former sniper shouts in Sully's direction, who is now near his SUV, just a few cars away from him.

The other agent's eyes are quick to find the spot where the voice came from, and when he notices his stiff position and rough features, he knows that whatever Booth has in mind, it's not going to be a pleasant conversation. "Not in the mood for this, Booth," he declares, and turns to open the door of his car.

"So it's true," Booth states, walking slowly over to Sully's SUV. "You're leaving."

Giving up, Sully spins around on his heels and finds Booth already standing approximately one meter from him. He extends his arms to the sides and lets them fall down again. "Just say whatever it is you feel the need to say so we can get it over with, alright?" he offers tiredly.

There's a noise and then everything goes black for him. He feels his jaw grow bigger and as he opens his eyes he also realizes something liquid and warm is running down his chin. Blood.

"You were supposed to be back for good," Booth tells him, his fist still hovering in the air.

From the ground, Sully agent gives Booth a look, followed by a chuckle. "Good one. Bet you've been wanting to do that for months," he says, clumsily standing up.

"You think it's funny? I'll show you funny."

Booth starts approaching him, but the other agent is ready this time and swings his fist across Booth's face before he gets to react. He flinches and takes a couple of steps back against his will as his hand travel instinctively to the spot where he just got struck. And suddenly, it hits him, as if icy water was being poured over him. What if she's going with him? What if he asks and she says yes this time? No, no. _She can't_. The current situation is completely different from the one for years ago. From what he'd managed to find out, Sully's going back in order to track Mendez down. He would never take Brennan with him, not if there's a possibility that she may get hurt down there. Both agents have at least that much in common: they would never risk her life on purpose. He looks up to find Sully leaning against his SUV, breathing heavily. His lips are swollen and bloody, as Booth imagines his are too – he can taste the blood in his mouth, but there's a smirk embodied on his face.

Sully pushes himself away from the SUV and wipes some of the remaining blood off his chin with the back of his hand. "Seems like we'd _both_ been wanting to do that for months."

"Yeah," Booth agrees, panting. No point in lying now, is there?

"Just..." the agent begins, growing serious. "Don't screw things up, you hear me? You take your own advice for once and don't let her bully you into leaving." He makes a move to turn around and open the car door, but decides against it and looks at Booth hesitantly instead. "I know this is too much to ask... Trust me, I know it... but Payton's still recovering and–"

"I'll keep an eye on her," he cuts him off gently, and extends his hand to the other man. "Both of them."

Sully shakes the former sniper's hand with a grateful smile on his still swollen lips. "Thanks, Booth."

* * *

He enters the lab with the sleeve of his suit jacket pressed against the corner of his lips. Sully sure knows how to return a swinging fist, but at least they both got the chance to get everything out of their systems. However, those thoughts are rapidly pushed to the back of his mind as his eyes catch Cam approaching him with determined steps, crossed arms and one hell of a serious look on her face.

"I'd appreciate it if next time, you take your macho contests far away from my lab, Seeley," she informs him when she's close enough to the agent. Booth gives her a puzzled look and she adds, "Cameras, remember?"

He can't help but scoff. Those cameras would've been a lot more useful back when Brennan and Hodgins were captured by Taffet. Now their only use seem to be to rat on him when he gets into his first fight in months. And if he takes away the suspects from cases, in years.

The pathologist hands him a tissue. "Here," she says. "I may work with flesh but that doesn't mean I want to see blood all over your handsome face."

"How is she?" he asks, taking the tissue from Cam and wiping the blood from his mouth. "I mean, has she…Has she..."

But he trails off, unsure of what to say.

Cam glances toward the anthropologist's office. "Angela was just there," she tells him, and looks at him from the corner of her eye. "Go to her, big guy."

"Thanks, Cam," he says, nodding, and turns then to look at her with the hint of a charm smile on his face. "And don't call me Seeley."

It takes a lot of his willpower to restrain himself from jogging the rest of the way to his partner's office, and once he gets there, he watches her through the glass doors before stepping inside. She's sitting on the couch alone, her hand by her face, wiping away what he believes are tears. His heart starts to ache along with hers, partly because he can't stand her suffering and partly because he knows that the reason she's hurting is another man. Finally, he gathers the courage to enter her office, but stops a few inches after the doorway when her watery, clear eyes travel up to him after hearing his heavy footsteps getting closer. He holds the gaze and gives her a reassuring smile along with a vague nod, trying to tell her everything is going to be okay. After a moment, she looks down again, shaking her head tiredly.

"You wanna get out of here?" Booth asks, softness running throughout his voice.

She lets out a brief, halfheartedly laugh before lifting her head slowly. "Yes," she tells him, nodding.

–&–

**A/N: **I just wanted to add that I know it may seem like Brennan is OOC, but in my defense I've always believed Sully affected her in a way that nobody else has, not even Booth. I mean, the guy even had her desperate to leave work and go spend time with him on a freaking boat, lol.

Anyway, Sully's gone for now – I plan on giving closure to the case he's working with and his life in general, but that will be much later on. As for B&B .. well, they're both single now, but they still have a lot of things to work on, so this should be fun. What do you say, should I send them to a cabin in the mountains and have a storm trap them in there?


	16. Chapter 16

Hi guys!

I don't know how many of you still have this story among your alerts, and those of you who do will probably hate that this isn't a proper update (I know I hate it when what I thought was a new chapter is instead a boring Autor's Note, hehe)

Okay, so. . I feel like I owe you an explanation. A lot of stuff has happened in my life during the last six or so months, stuff that kept me from writing because a) I didn't have the time, and b) the muse just wasn't with me. However, things are different now, and even though I'm currently buried in school work, I'll be pretty much free in just a few weeks.

Long story short, I haven't forgotten about this story and I have definitely not given up on it. The next chapter is pretty much finished, and I have an insane amount of scenes in drafts for future chapters that I really want to polish and publish. Not to mention, I have at least two big story arcs bouncing around in my head.

However – and, as Brennan would say, this is the same as a 'but' –, there's something I want to do before I keep going with this story, and that something is rewrite some of the first chapters. I feel like writing this story has helped me grow in a way, and it has also helped me improve my English quite a bit. This is the first story I've written in years, and my first Bones one with a proper plot, so I sort of want to do it justice, if you know what I mean :) Anyway, rewriting the first chapters shouldn't take me so long since I've already re-read it a couple of times and I know what needs to be changed, so the new chapter will probably be up before Christmas, and after that, if everything goes as I expect it to, I'll go back to posting at least once a week.

So, um, if you're still in, I'm still in :)


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Back at last! Guys, I want to thank you from the bottom of my fangirl heart for both the reviews for Chapter 15 and the response you gave me after reading the note I posted. Your words mean more than you can possibly imagine so thank you, thank you, thank you! I said I wouldn't update until I'd fixed some chapters – and guess what, I ended up fixing them all! I went through every single one of them and added/removed/rewrote some things. The plot is still intact though (nothing story-altering has been added) so you won't miss anything if you don't reread them, but if you wanna take a look, you're more than welcome! :) Anyway, a new chapter has arrived and I really hope you enjoy it! Your reviews are my drug, as always. Hehe.

Oh, and Happy Holidays! Make sure you don't get caught under the mistletoe ;)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones, yadda yadda.

–&–

"Hey, have you seen Brennan? I left her in her office like ten minutes ago and now she's nowhere to be found."

The pathologist tilts her head towards the exit of the lab. "Booth came for her. They just left." Angela nods in understanding but doesn't make any comments. She turns to face the artist, who mirrors her actions and shifts position so that she can face her more directly as well. Cam hesitates, and then she asks, "Is she going to be alright?"

A heartbeat passes.

"I think so," Angela says. "She's just mad."

"This is gonna sound completely out of place, but I never imagined I'd see her like that because of a man." _A man that isn't Booth, that is_, her mind can't help but add. "Still, Sully's just doing what he thinks is best." When she catches the frown that takes over the artist's expression, the explanation comes automatically. "He came to my office to say goodbye before he left."

"She's not mad at Sully."

Cam lifts an eyebrow and gives the artist a skeptical, inquisitive look. "Who is she mad at then?"

She lets out a sigh. "Herself. God, I knew something like this would happen. Hodgins should totally start listening to me."

* * *

_The second she saw Sully heading to the exit, she knew something had happened. He looked like he'd aged ten years. His eyes were red, his usual goofy smile was gone, and even his posture was different, sort of tired. Quickly, she made her way to Brennan's office and entered it without bothering to knock or announce her arrival. Her gaze found the anthropologist sitting on the couch, staring at the corner of the table in front of her._

"_Hey," Angela dragged the word in empathy as she walked over to her friend. "I just saw Sully leaving. Is everything alright?"_

_Her eyes remained fixed on the coffee table. "I have feelings for Booth."_

_Angela lost her composure for a fraction, but was soon able to pull herself together. Thousand of thoughts and questions began to run through her mind, and she made sure to save each and every one of them for later. The corners of her lips curled up into a vague, empathetic smile. "Not to ruin your party of revelations, Bren...", she sat down next to her, "but those aren't exactly news for me."_

_Her brow furrowed as if she'd come to an unbelievable conclusion. "I think my feelings for him aren't going to disappear in the near future."_

_Part of her had wanted to say '...are _ever_ going to disappear', but as much as she wanted, she still couldn't bring herself to put something that concerned her and Booth in the hands of absolutes. _

"_Okay," the artist replied simply, nodding her head._

_She didn't actually know what else to say. As much as she'd been waiting for both partners to finally acknowledge their feelings for each other for years, their timing seemed to be completely against them._

_Brennan dragged her back to reality in an instant. "Sully and I broke up."_

"_Wow."_

"_He's going after Mendez—"_

"_What?"_

"—_I don't quite understand why—"_

"_Bren."_

"—_but I assume it's a matter of—"_

_Angela's hand being held up cut her off silently. "Okay, stop right there. That's too much information to digest in fifteen seconds. Talk to me, sweetie. And start with the Sully thing, we can deal with the rest later."_

"_We broke up."_

_She gestured for her to continue, impatiently. "Yeah, I figured."_

"_He's leaving. He's—__he is going back to Central America to track Mendez down. After what happened to Perotta, he..." She took a deep breath and blew it out along with her next words. "Sully is leaving."_

_Angela gave her a warm look. "I'm sorry, sweetie."_

"_No," she said sharply, as if rejecting the pity. "I was... I was going to ends things between us when he came back from Miami. I had been...thinking about it." She let out a brief, forced laugh. "Planning what I was going to say. It was easier when I was with Michael or Peter because I never really...they weren't..."_

We fought all the time and don't like each other anymore. _That's what she'd said to Peter during that second case with Booth that came to be the beginning of their nearly seven year old partnership. It was a valid reason, a rational one. Why be together with someone who makes your life harder than it has to be? But that hadn't been the case with Sully—not now and not four years ago. Both times had somehow ended up being about him leaving, only this time she'd had a choice to make even though he wasn't asking her to come with him._

_Angela shook her out of her thoughts by laying a delicate hand on her arm. "Michael was a two-faced jerk, Brennan, and Peter was just plain boring."_

_She smiled vaguely. "That night, at the FBI party... I didn't went outside just because I needed some air, Ange. What I mean is, I did feel the need to inhale fresh air, but the reason behind it was... when Booth and I were dancing..."_

"_You felt it, didn't you?" Angela asked with a huge grin on her face. "That old black magic?"_

"_There's no such thing as magic," she pointed out._

"_Sweetie, there _is_ magic. Specially when it comes to you and Studly. Hell, there have been magic sparks flying around you two since the day you met."_

"_You weren't present when Booth and I me—__"_

"_Doesn't matter, Bren, that's not the point," she chuckled trying to lighten up the mood, but her friend remained silent. After a minute that felt like ages, Angela added, "So, now what?"_

_Brennan bursted into a laugh that, mixed with the unshed tears, stung her with bittersweetness. _"I don't know_ what to do now, Ange." And she meant it, which was why it was so terrifying. She wasn't one to admit that she didn't know what to do next, it wasn't like her to _not_ know. "I don't know what to do about anything. Booth, our partnership, my... the way I feel about him." She buried her face between her hands, sudden anger pumping through her veins. "What did I do, Ange?" Her voice was dark, and so were her eyes when she looked back up to her friend. "What do I do?"_

_Her hand found Brennan's and she interlaced their fingers firmly. "My advice? Take some time for yourself, sweetie. Put things into perspective. Do _not_ fly the country, or I'll hunt you down myself, pregnant and all. But really, just... I think you need to breathe. Both you and Booth have had a lot going on since we all came back. Hannah, and Sully, and the work you two do together..." She tightened the grip on the scientist's hand. "Just promise me you won't wait too long, Bren."_

_She thought about telling Angela that she wasn't even certain if there's was any point in doing something about the feelings she had for Booth, but decided against it when she realized that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have at the moment._

"_I feel like I've been constantly crying for the past two weeks," she said in a murmur instead._

"_Hey, do __you want to cry? Cry. Hell, I'll even cry with you if you show me a picture of a stray puppy. That's how this kid has me: bawling around like a mourning cow," Angela laughed. "It's going to be okay, Bren, you'll..." but she trailed off as her free hand fished a screaming cell phone from her pocket. She squinted at the screen and turned to Brennan. "Speaking of the devil, or in this case, my saviour—it's my gynecologist. I'm so sorry, sweetie, I've been waiting for this call all day. She's out of town where Jesus lost his sandal and the reception is awful there and I really need to ask h—"_

_Brennan gave her a genuine smile. "Go ahead, Ange."_

"_I'm just gonna run to Hodgins for a second," she added, heading for the door. "He had some questions too. I'll be right back, okay?"_

"_Sure."_

_Angela disappeared into the squint jungle with the phone pressed against her ear and Brennan remained on the couch for a moment, her head pounding and her heart aching. When she had just wiped away the last tears from her cheeks, she heard heavy, familiar footsteps crossing the doorframe and looked up to him feeling a wave of mixed feelings washing over her. Her eyes became watery again at the thought that, somehow, Booth always managed to just _be_ there. He smiled at her warmly and she looked down, shaking her head at his perfect timing and reassuring eyes. And then, he asked, ever so softly._

"_You wanna get out of here?"_

_She laughed briefly before answering; laughed because that was exactly what she wanted, and because him asking made her want it even more. "Yes," she said, nodding._

* * *

After a rather quiet drive and an even more silent elevator ride, they end up outside her apartment's door. Booth never actually said he was taking her home but the moment the engine ceased working and her eyes got sight of the _oh_ so familiar red building, she felt a strange wave of gratitude towards him. It's awfully heart-wrenching, the way Booth simply knows what's best for her in situations like this. Once on her floor, her front door unlocks with a _click_ and she turns to look at him in the dim light of the hallway. It's getting dark.

Her eyes land on his left cheek. "What happened to your jaw?"

Booth, who's been immerse in his own thoughts since they left the lab, gives her a puzzled look.

"Huh?"

"Your jaw," she says, squinting at it as her eyes adapt slowly to the lighting. "It's swollen and your lip is..." A gasp flies through her lips. "Booth, you're bleeding."

"Oh, that," he says as he remembers what happened at the parking lot. He tries to wipe the blood off with the back of his hand. "It's nothing, Bones, it's just—"

"You're bleeding," she repeats.

Without even giving it a second thought, Brennan cups his face between her hands the same way she'd done in that interrogation room a few years ago. Her touch sends several shivers up and down his spine and his stomach flip the second her fingers come in contact with his five o'clock shadow.

_Damn it, Seeley Booth. Get your shit together._

Hands tilting his face to her left, she gives him a severe look. "Did you get into a fight?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Booth mutters in a rather childish manner.

She blows out a breath and turns around to finish opening the door. When she steps inside and starts to take off her coat and shoes, he assumes she's upset because he won't tell her how he got the cut on his lip so, jerking a finger over his shoulder, he mumbles something about leaving and seeing her the next day.

"No," Brennan says, stepping forward. "You need to clean that cut. I believe I have some povidone in the bathroom."

For a second, he hesitates. Tempting, yes, but also dangerous. Especially now. "Bones, really, don't worry. I'll take care of it at home."

Her chin tilts up just a few millimeters. "Do you even have a medicine kit?"

"No," he huffs, "I'll just buy some stuff on my way ho—"

"But you won't," Brennan cuts him off, her eyes wide. "I know you, Booth. You'll pretend it's nothing."

Another argument with himself takes place. Nope, still dangerous. "I told you, Bones. It _is_ nothing."

"_Booth_..." His name is a warning and they both know it. "It'll get infected. Please."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he finally gives in. "Alright," Booth says as he steps inside, "just tell me where you have the poviden—"

"Povidone."

"—and I'll clean it myself."

She gives him a small, satisfied smile and looks down the hallway. "Everything you need is in the bathroom," Brennan says as she passes by him to close the front door. "Inside the medicine cabinet."

"Right," he mutters with a single nod of his head.

It's not until Booth has disappeared into the bathroom that the easiness with which she could bring herself to touch him finally hits her. For a split moment, she felt so concerned and surprised at not having noticed his injury before that she never stopped to think that they don't really do touching anymore, that many things that she'd taken for granted have been off limits for months now. Things like bringing her hands to his face when he's hurt.

With a sigh, she leans against the door and closes her eyes. The noise of Booth searching through the cabinet echoes in the apartment as Angela's words do the same in her head.

Time.

She doesn't even know if that is what she wants, if waiting is what she needs, but she does know that there's no time to think through it now because Booth's in her apartment, and...and apparently he's destroying it too. Bottles hitting the floor and curses being shouted drag her back to reality and she, puzzled, heads to the bathroom as well.

"Booth," she calls him, knocking carefully on the wooden door, "is everything okay?"

"Everything's _fine_, Bones," he groans from the other side of the door. "It's just—I couldn't get your damn cabinet open and then it—dammit! Ugh, _you have got to be kidding me!_"

Not caring about giving him a warning first, Brennan swings the door open and sees him sitting on the edge of the toilet, rubbing his forehead with one hand and holding a brown little bottle with the other. Reddish liquid is running down the sink, small bottles are scattered on the floor, and when her eyes meet his, Booth gives her an apologetical look.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "the cabinet wouldn't open, I pulled too hard, hit my forehead with the door and then everything just... I'm sorry, Bones, I'll clean it up."

Brennan shakes her head, trying to fight back the smile that's tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's alright, Booth." She heads for the cabinet, opens it carefully and grabs a bottle of transparent liquid along with some cotton pads. "You can leave the povidone on the sink," she tells him softly.

Distractedly, he does as she requested.

"Now look up," Brennan says as she pours some alcohol in a cotton pad.

"What are you—what are you doing?"

"Cleaning your cut."

"No way," Booth snorts. "I'm not a kid, Bones. Give me the bottle, I'll do it myself," he declares as he tries to reach for it in vain.

"Based on the past five minutes," she begins in a matter-of-fact tone, "I feel confident stating that it'll go considerably faster if you let me do it." He glares at her, unwilling to give up. "I won't let you destroy my bathroom, Booth."

Booth huffs loudly. "Fine."

"Now look up."

"_Fine_."

With a final groan, he obeys, tilting his head up so that she can have a better look.

"This will probably sting," she warns him before placing the cotton pad on the cut.

Not that he really needs the warning, but said and done—it stings like hell. He may be a tough former sniper and FBI-agent but damn it, alcohol is still alcohol. And alcohol on a wound is...well, it's certainly not pain free. Against his own will, Booth flinches and squeezes his eyes shut, mentally cursing himself for not being able to control his reaction and also for having let Sully punch him.

Oh, right. Sully.

His gaze travels to hers, and the events of the afternoon come back to him when he catches Brennan's swollen eyes and tired smile as she pours some more alcohol in a new pad. Without saying a word this time, she places it on his cut just as carefully as she's done a minute ago. Throat clenching, he gulps, stricken by the way one of her delicate hands holds his face in place while the other takes care of his lip.

"I was defending my partner's honor," Booth says all of a sudden. She looks at him quizzically and he clears his throat before elaborating. "Sully slugged me."

She gasps.

"_After_ I slugged him," he clarifies quickly and the charm smile plays around his face. "It was pretty comical, actually," he chuckles, but catches then Brennan's skeptical, slightly horrified look. "Never mind, you had to be there."

"You slugged Sully."

It's not a question, just a shocked statement.

He nods. "I did."

"And then he slugged you?"

Another nod. "That's correct."

Intrigue flashes across her pale blue eyes. "Why—why would you do that?"

"I got mad," Booth tries to brush it off, but her questioning eyes are hard to avoid. With a forced sigh, he adds, "Look, it's pretty simple. I don't get to die on you and he doesn't get to leave. That's how it works in my world."

"He's going after a dangerous man whose most recent crime was to shoot Agent Perotta," she says, eyes narrowed and brow furrowing slightly.

Booth makes a face. "Potato, potato."

Truth to be told, he's expecting her to get all riled up, to lecture him on how his actions were rustic and irrational, on how they're both grown ups living in an era where such behavior shouldn't even cross his mind. Instead, she opens the bottle of povidone, dips one end of a cotton stick in it and starts to brush it along his cut.

"Bones, I'm s—"

"Don't move," she orders him. He sits as still as he can for what feels like an eternity, until she steps away from him at last. "There shouldn't be a scar," Brennan assures him as she turns around and starts putting back the small bottles in the cabinet. Her eyes are deliberately avoiding his searching gaze.

Seizing the opportunity, he pushes himself up. "Bones..."

"You shouldn't have done it," she says softly, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "You don't have to take care of me."

"I know."

"I can do that myself, Booth. I've been doing it for a long t—"

"Bones, _I know_."

They remain in silence for several, long moments. Booth isn't quite certain if he should leave or wait for her to say something else, and the fact that he would've known for sure if this had happened two years ago sort of makes his chest tighten painfully. Brennan, on the other side, is experiencing a whole cocktail of different emotions. Things have been so up and down, so rocky between them for the last days, weeks and even months that she's not entirely sure of what normal means anymore. Not to mention, it's been less than three hours since her relationship with Sully ended so everything she could possible feel is on the surface_, _raw and palpable, aching and confusing.

There are, however, a few things of which she's now glad to be sure about. One, her feelings for Booth are strong—stronger than she ever imagined they would be. Two, she _does_ need time to figure things out and to fix whatever it is that she and Booth have at the moment. And three, he really has to stop putting himself in danger for her, even if said danger only means he'll end up with a swollen jaw and a bruised lip.

Her clear eyes travel up to meet his chocolate, expectant ones, and when she speaks, she does it quietly, almost in a murmur.

"Thank you, Booth. I wish you hadn't done what you did but I..." she draws in a sharp breath. He was just trying to protect her. He's always trying to protect her. "Thank you."

Hands buried on the pockets of his pants, Booth gives her a warm look. "I'm sorry, Bones... you and Sully, I'm sorry it didn't work out."

Scared to say the wrong thing, she simply nods vaguely and together they clean up the bathroom in silence.

* * *

"What do you say, Bones?"

"Female. Teenager. Never given birth." She goes around the body, squinting at it. "Has the skull been found yet?" she wants to know, a thread of annoyance running throughout her voice.

He shakes his head as he writes down what she just told him on his small notes pad. "They're searching for it as we speak. Give 'em some time, Bones, we just got here."

Brennan shoots him a look. "But _they_ didn't. In fact, you said it yourself that the forensic team from the FBI arrived here at least two hours ago. I still fail to understand why it took them so long to call you."

"Signal's bad here," he shrugs. "You want everything sent back to the lab?"

"Of course I do, Booth. Cam needs to examine the fleshy parts of the remains. It'd be impossible for her to do it if the body is still here, don't you think?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Booth holds his hands up in surrender, "easy there, Bones. Mind telling me what's going on?" He looks at her with concern, but she doesn't meet his eyes, so in order to get her to talk, he adds, "You know, you've been nothing but snappy since the moment I picked you up. That's not being a good partner according to my book."

Her eyes snap up to him. "I have _not—_" but she trails off.

He's going to find out eventually, so she might as well tell him now. She lets out a sigh and shifts position slightly without really moving from where she's standing, and when she speaks her voice is a bit lower than usual.

"Russ called me last night." It takes one more of those looks from Booth to get her to continue. "He hasn't heard from my dad in over three months."

"This is about Max?"

She gives him a vague, unsure nod, and he can't help but smile. A little over three years ago she wasn't even okay with visiting him in jail, and now she's worried sick because neither she or her brother have heard from Max in a while. He realizes she's waiting for him to say something, and that his smile isn't quite helping to ease her concerns. On the contrary, her skeptical frown tells him she's about to take all that concern, turn it into anger and take it out on... well, him.

He steps closer to her, facing her directly and leaving just a few inches of space between them in an attempt to achieve more privacy. "Hey, Bones, listen. Max is... well, he tends to disappear every once in a while. That doesn't necessarily mean something bad has happened."

She holds the gaze for a moment, the initial skepticism now replaced for that little lost girl's look she always gets when talking about her dad. Her lips part, but she hesitates briefly before saying anything. "He hasn't even called Russ to hear from the girls. I usually don't talk to him so often, but he always calls to know how Hayley and Emma are doing."

Granted, he can't say she doesn't have a point. If Max tends to let at least Russ hear from him every now and then, it's only understandable that they get worried when it's gone a while since he last did it. His eyes travel down for a moment and then up to her again, along with two snapping fingers. "Hey, you know what? Let's finish up here and head back to DC. We can order take-out, and I'll do some paperwork in your office while you stare at your bones, alright?"

"You don't need to stay with me, Booth." Her tone is firm, but the half-smile that shows up on her face betrays her words.

"I know I don't _need_ to do it," he assures her. "I just want to." Now he's the one that grins when her smile gets just a little bit bigger and she tips her head in agreement without taking her eyes from him. Booth takes it as a good sign and turns to three of the forensics that are passing by them. "You heard Dr. Brennan, boys." His hand gestures a circle around the body. "Pack everything up and send it to the lab."

As they watch the forensics pack up, she looks at him from the corner of her eye. "You have a book on how to be a good partner?"

"No," he smirks, turning to face her. "But if my memory doesn't fail me, you do."

The rest of their day goes pretty much as Booth predicted. She spends most of her time between her office and the platform, being sporadically searched by Hodgins and Wendell and he catches up with the paperwork from their latest case that he'd been putting up. When lunch time arrives, they order some food from good old Wung Foo—in fact, they order enough for the whole squint squad to join them, so they all end up eating in her office late in the afternoon.

"No ID yet, correct?" he asks looking at Angela.

The artist swallows her food and shakes her head. "The skull just arrived, so I haven't had the chance to do a sketch yet."

"I should be done with it within the next hour," Brennan interjects, and plays then with the chopsticks, brushing them against her lips. She casts a glance to where Wendell and Hodgins are sitting and chatting, and clears her throat feigning nonchalance. "Unless Mr. Bray wants to do the reconstruction of the skull."

The eyes of the blonde grad-student snap to his mentor right away. "Really?" he asks smiling. "I've never done one before! Not all by myself at least."

"Then I suggest you use the rest of your break to prepare. I'll be here but, giving your previous work, I expect you to be able to do a satisfying job without my guidance."

Hodgins chuckles. "That's her way of telling you that you're not allowed to screw up."

"I won't," Wendell promises, pushing himself off his seat with the smile still embedded on his face. "Man, Vincent's gonna be so pissed!" he adds before quickly making his way out of the office and heading for one of the examining rooms.

Booth nods toward the door. "Jeez, Bones, you could've waited 'til he finished his food before giving him a reason to storm off like that. Poor kid got so excited he didn't even bother finishing his lunch."

She shrugs slightly with her shoulders. "I thought the instance was appropriate."

The bug man grabs the food carton from the table where Wendell just left it and brings some of the rice to his mouth. "And I concur vehemently," he says, gaining himself a smack on the arm from his wife. "_What_?"

Angela rolls her eyes at him. "You're unbelievable," she says, shaking her head in amusement.

"Dr. Brennan," Cam begins, "you do know that the rest of your interns—" A muffled 'squinterns' from Hodgins cuts her off, but she shoots him a look and continues, "that the rest of your interns will expect to be given the same kind of opportunities now."

Brennan nods vaguely and puts her chopsticks down on the coffee table. "I'm aware. I believe he has the capacity, as do the rest of my grad-students and Mr. Edison. It would be unwise to wait longer than necessary."

"Yeah, right?" Angela hisses with a dangerous smile, and her eyes flicker between one partner and the other. "I mean, if they're all ready and so, it'd be plain _stupid_ to waste any more time, wouldn't it?"

Unfortunately for her, none of the partners notice her eyes on them and the only ones that seem to get the double-meaning behind her words are Cam, who lets a knowing smirk play around her face, and Hodgins, who almost chokes in his food—or Wendell's food to be more exact. Angela bursts into a mean laugh and her husband, coughing, shoots her a harsh look.

"I'm sorry, babe, didn't mean for you to choke on some stolen rice."

The pathologist rises from her seat. "That's it, people. Back to work everybody." She smiles at Booth. "Well, except for you. I'm only _their_ boss, not yours. But then again, you _are_ at my lab."

He simply chuckles and they start to collect the food cartons and the used chopsticks, and when everything's cleaned up, Cam, Angela and Hodgins exit the room, leaving the partners alone again. Brennan heads back to the couch where she sits back down, picks up some reports and starts to read through them. Booth remains on his spot near her desk and contemplates her as discreetly as he can.

It's been more or less two weeks since she and Sully broke up, and somehow, everything has gone back to normal—or as normal as they usually have it. They've solved two cases within the last week, she has healed up completely from the injuries caused by the kidnapping, and he just spent the weekend having fun at the zoo with Parker. It would appear that everything is just as it should be.

Except that's not the case.

Because the nagging feeling that there should be more to it, to _them_, just won't leave him. Is it foolish of him to think that, now that both Hannah and Sully are out of the picture, maybe they still have a chance? Or is he letting himself get tricked by that sometimes evil little thing called hope? And at the same time... she only said that she had regrets. She didn't say she had any feelings for him whatsoever. Maybe... maybe her regret wasn't about _him_ specifically, but about the big picture. No, no. She must have felt _something_. After all these years and everything they've been through, she can't, she just can't be indifferent to everything that has happened between them since they got back from their time apart.

Her pale blue eyes travel from the reports and up to him. "Booth? Why are you standing there? You need to sign these in order for Caroline to get a conviction."

With a vague shake of his head, he drives all the worrying thoughts away. He'll have plenty of time to think about all those things later tonight, that's one thing he's sure about. "Ah, we don't want Caroline getting all cranky on me, do we?"

He walks over to the couch, falls down next to her and grabs the reports from her hands. But before signing them as she just reminded him he should, he raises an eyebrow at her and smiles.

"What, are you planning on baby-sitting me all day?" Booth teases her.

"I don't know." She shrugs a bit and meets his eyes, also with a smile on her face. "Are you?"

–&–

Comments/opinions? I noticed while writing this chapter that I wasn't sure how I felt about it, which is why it turned out to be pretty vague. See it as a filler chapter! :) And PS. I think I need a beta, so if anyone's up for it, please feel more than free to hit my inbox.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** What can I say, life got in the way, like it always seems to do. Just a few things: _one_, your reviews are the food to my soul, so keep them coming, yeah? :) _Two_, don't hate Booth. I had this planned since I started this story (you'll understand once you read the chapter). And _three_, for the sake of this story, I've come up with a timeline so that everything makes more sense in my head. So, according to my head-canon the season five finale took place in April, that means that when they came back seven months later it was November (early November if you want); Brennan's breakdown happened four months after that (March) and the current events are taking place more or less four months later, let's say early July. Good? Good! Now let's get back to the story :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones.

—&—

A three-day stubble, two dark circles under the eyes and tired features is all he sees staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. Still sleepy, he runs a hand over his face, chocolate eyes narrowing at his evident weariness as he tries to remember when was the last time he got a decent sleep.

With a forced snort, Booth heads for the drawer clad in a worn beige towel, water drops falling from his hair and down his bare upper-body. Once by the wardrobe, he yanks one of the drawers open and notices, much to his dismay, that he's basically ran out of clean underwear.

"Dammit…"

With everything that has happened the past month, doing the laundry was one of the things he definitely did not prioritize. His eyes flicker between two pair of boxers he absolutely despises and Booth, foolishly hopeful, searches the drawer with his hand. And then, when he's about to give up, his fingers brush by something. Scowling, he reaches for it and takes it out, eyes widening considerably as they catch sight of the dark little box. Fleeting images from that afternoon months ago fly through his mind and he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed without even knowing how he got there, raking a hand through his damp hair and licking his all of a sudden dry, _dry_ lips.

It all comes back to him — the way he felt, the restless three nights that pushed him to do it and the countless ones that came after … how his fingers kept playing with the box from the moment he shoved it inside his pocket until he got home …

But most important, he remembers—and tries desperately to seek consolation in that particular fact—how he simply knew that he wasn't going to go through with it the moment his feet got past the wooden threshold of his front door late that evening.

He takes a proper look around the bedroom. Everything looked so different back then, everything _felt_ so different. Not that long ago, half his wardrobe consisted of work blouses, pencil skirts and a few worn jeans plus some plain tank tops. Perhaps a jacket or two as well. There were also printed articles from diverse journalists scattered here and there and a half-packed trolley case by the doorway that always rested there in case she got dragged into an assignment on short notice.

His lips curve into a weak smile. One thing he learned about her was that Hannah traveled light. _Hell, she lived that way_, which was actually one of the things that had fascinated him the most at first. All that lightness and simplicity that she irradiated came as a drastic and refreshing breath of air, something he'd been in desperate need of when they met. He hadn't mind goofing around, hadn't mind diving into an initially quite shallow relationship with her as long as it took his mind off all the things that had led him to turn his back to D.C. in the first place. Then a few months passed and all of a sudden he was back in the city that made his chest clench and back being partners with the woman that, whether she'd had her reasons or not, had stomped on his heart until there was _oh_ so very little of it left.

Brown, sad eyes land on his clenched fist. God, what was he thinking? Clearly, he'd been confused, even though he hadn't been aware of it at the moment. Angry, too, and just plain trapped inside that little shiny bubble he'd created for him and Hannah, the same bubble he'd tried in vain to keep intact during all those months.

He should've known reality was going to catch up with him sooner or later.

* * *

It's always been one of her favorite things about summer mornings: that light breeze and the non-suffocating heat that allow her the most ideal jogging experiences. Besides, those instances always provide her with an inexplicable, reassuring quiet that usually helps her sort through her thoughts even more efficiently than usual.

This morning, however, is proving to be far from enjoyable — not even the fresh, cool air seems to be able to clear out her mind. Feeling the need to catch her breath, she slows down the pace until she ends up resting against a tree, her hands on her knees and one pounding heart about to jump out of her chest.

A minute, that's all she needs; a minute to breathe and let all the worrying thoughts wash over her because, if she does so, then perhaps they'll vanish for a while. Max is still missing, Russ is growing more and more desperate (as is she, although she hasn't gotten to the point to admitting it) and Angela is due any day now. Not to mention, she's still conflicted when it comes to Booth and yet, every time she tries to thinks about it, _about them_, something inside her begins to _tick, tick, tick_, leaving her—if possible—even more distressed.

After what feels like an eternity of standing there, her gaze aims for the clear sky as a frustrated sigh escapes her lips. It's not going to work out, dealing with such concerns while standing in the middle of a park so she, in one swift move, turns to her right and rounds the tree on her way back to the path, only to be suddenly and brutally shoved back against the tree. Her eyes squeeze shut and she brings a hand to the back of her head to soothe the vivid, stinging pain that has taken over it as a hoarse, apologetical voice is heard as from afar.

"Oh my god. I am so, so sorry. Are you okay? God, I'm such an—I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," she offers after a moment, eyes fluttering open at last and catching sight of the stranger standing in front of her, a man in his late thirties currently babbling out a bunch of apologies. "I'm fine, really."

"I'm really sorry. God, I was running and thinking and pretty distracted and you just," he chuckles nervously, "well, you sort of came out of nowhere."

"It's all right," she insists.

Technically, it's not because all of a sudden her whole body feels fragile and sore, but she's not really in the mood for engaging in an argument with a complete stranger, or with anyone for that matter.

"Are you, um …" The man eyes her from head to toe. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She gives a weak smile in spite of the pounding in her head. "Positive."

"Wonderful," he exclaims with a nod. "That's—listen, again, I'm really sorry."

"No problem. Although it'd be wise if you consider paying more attention in the future."

He chuckles lightly. "Sure, you have my word on that."

Silence falls over them as they smile politely at each other until the awkwardness of the situation becomes palpable even for her and, now that the universe seems to have plotted against her and she has an excuse to go home and take a quick shower, Brennan concludes that the best thing she can do is to head back to the apartment … if only she weren't basically trapped between the stranger and the rough tree trunk.

Head still a tad foggy, she makes a clumsy move to leave. "I really should …"

"Right! Of course." He steps aside and gives her a last smile before she walks away. However, she's barely ten feet from him when a, "I could make it up to you, if you want," trips over his lips.

Perplexed, she turns around to face him again. "Pardon me?"

"There's a coffee cart not far from here," he explains beaming. "No agenda, just coffee. My treat. Come on, I feel kinda bad."

"I …" she trails off as her eyes take in the stranger's appearance: tall, broad shoulders, accented cheekbones, blond hair, bright eyes, wide smile and, although not a psychical treat, quite excellent manners.

She bites her bottom lip, unsure of how to formulate her answer while his eager gaze tries to find hers.

"You drink coffee, don't you? Because you strike me as the type and I'm usually not wrong about this stuff, but if I am we can always trade the coffee for, I don't know, orange juice?"

"No, I do—I do drink coffee," she says at last, also smiling. "Although I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I have to decline."

"Oh, come on. I've been told I'm very good company."

"I'm sorry," she says softly, "but I'm not interested."

If her words have wounded his ego, he doesn't let on. "Alright, got it," he nods and makes a move to head for the opposite direction. "Well, it was nice to meet you, um …what was your name, again? I didn't catch it before."

"I didn't tell you my name," she points out tilting her head to the side.

"Right," he says after a brief, vibrant laugh. "Well, take care, jogging girl."

As she steps out of the shower half an hour later, her eyes land on the burning scratches on her arm and she can't help but re-play the encounter with the blond man in her head. He was handsome, charming and certainly willing. Had she met him a few years ago, they would have probably skipped the coffee and gone straight to her place, or she would have taken upon his invitation and then scheduled something else for later the same week. Point is, she wouldn't have said no two years ago. He was appealing, that's for sure, but there was one thing he could never be.

However handsome, charming or willing, he could never be Booth.

* * *

His heavy footsteps barely get him past the platform when the sound of a familiar perky voice reaches his ears.

"She's not there, big guy."

After whirling around, he catches sight of Cam walking over to him as the beat of her clicking heels echoes in the lab. Booth wonders, not for the first time, if the Jeffersonian squints have any opinions whatsoever on the usually too-fancy-to-the-party outfits she chooses to wear to work but, as the pathologist approaches him, he drives away the thought with a discreet shake of his head.

"Hm?"

"Dr. Brennan," she clarifies with a knowing smile. "She's not in her office. Hasn't been all day."

"Oh. Right." Booth chuckles and glances at the corridor that leads to the bones storage. He doesn't need anyone to tell him about her whereabouts if she's not in her office, that's for sure. "I'll just head downstairs then." He mutters as if speaking to nobody but himself as a distracted hand palms the back of his neck. "Yeah, downstairs."

Having now access to a closer view, she notices the weariness not only written all over his face but also quite obvious in his body language. During the last couple of months, she's gotten used to see him a tad more worn out than usual, but this … This exceeds the norm by miles. He has practically aged ten years overnight.

"Hey," she calls him softly, "you okay?

"What? Yes, of course." Shoulders tensing, he straightens himself up. "That storage room gives me creeps, that's all."

One look into her eyes tells him what he already knows — that she's not buying it.

"Come on, G-man. Be a gentleman and walk me to my office."

He makes a face. "Can't, Cam. I gotta get Bones to sign this report and then get my ass back to the bureau. Hacker's been on my case for weeks and I really can't afford to get fired right now. Or ever."

"It'll just take a minute."

"Cam …"

"Seeley."

Her tone is almost dangerous.

"Fine."

_It was a lost cause anyway_, he muses as they walk through the lab in silence. Once in her office, there's no beating around the bushes whatsoever. She makes sure to close the door behind them, walks over to her desk and shoots him a severe look from there, all the while his eyes wander absently around the room.

"So, tell me now," Cam begins casually, "how long do you plan on walking around looking like a stray puppy that languishes in the misery of unrequited love?"

Narrowed eyes dart to hers. "_Excuse me?_"

"You heard me," she says tipping her head in his direction. "You know what Parker told me the other day when I met you two for breakfast? He said that you're sad. That even though you two have been doing your usual stuff like going to the zoo and to the cinema, he can tell something's bothering you."

"_What_?" Despite his evident astonishment, he smiles in a vain attempt to brush the whole thing off. "Cam, that's—Parker, he's just a kid. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"God knows I respect your privacy, Seeley, but if it has come to the point where even that little boy knows something's off with you then losing your job is the least of your concerns." His lips part but she shushes him by holding her forefinger up, and when she speaks she does it making strong emphasis on every word. "You look like crap. In fact, you've looked like crap for _months_ and now you walk in here practically impersonating a man on death row, for crying out loud. Honestly, Seeley, you can't expect me to do absolutely noth—"

"I bought a ring," he blurts out. His eyes are deliberately fixed anywhere but near Cam.

Now it's her turn to be taken aback. "Come again?"

Pushing aside the sick feeling growing inside him, he sucks in a sharp breath, meets his friend's wide eyes and says, "Before Hannah and I broke up, I bought an engagement ring."

"Oh my …" She blinks once, twice. "Oh my god."

"It was, um, it was a couple of days after Bones… after she told me that thing in," he clears his throat, "that thing in my car." Rather awkwardly, Booth tugs at the knot of his tie. Is it just him or did the room temperature suddenly gain several degrees? "The second I got home after buying it, I realized that I was never going to go through with it. I knew that… that Hannah wasn't the marrying kind. I mean, she'd already freaked out once when she thought I was planning on proposing so I knew… deep down, I knew it was never going to happen and, believe it or not, I was okay with that. But I actually went there, Cam. There's a… there's a freaking ring lying in my drawer."

"Seeley…"

"You wanna know what the worst part is? I'd forgotten about it. I mean, I made plans to return it after Hannah and I broke up but I had … I had wiped it from my mind up until this morning when I came across the damn little velvet box." He lets out a forced, bitter laugh that runs along with his next words. "What kind of person buys an engagement ring and then forgets all about it?"

His tone is harsh but it's not directed at her. No, all the weight is on his shoulders and she can tell by the way he's looking at her—his eyes suddenly so desperate and pleading—that he needs her to say something, _anything_, that will help his situation. If he had gone through with it, if Hannah had said yes … then he would've married her for all the wrong reasons, and more sooner than later the day would've come when he would have realized it and everything would have … Slightly horrified, she shakes her head and drives the fictional scenario far, far away.

"A lot has happened since… it's been months. Hey, look at me. You're a good man, Seeley. You've always been a good man. Don't beat yourself up because of this."

Shoulders relaxing, he smiles vaguely at her. It never ceases to amaze him, the effect she can have on him, how fast she can cool him down. There is, however, one more thing he needs to know before the topic is put to rest. "Just tell me something, Cam … During those all those months, when Hannah was here, when we were together … did I turn into a different person?"

"What do you mean? You seemed the same to me."

"How did I look?"

"Happy," she says simply.

Years of friendship always come with the benefit of really getting to know someone. Booth knows what he and Cam have. The banter, the teasing, the driving each other nuts and caring about one another like crazy at the same time. And of course, they have the really-knowing-someone bit as well. That's why he knows that she's being sincere, but it's also the reason he's certain that there is more to it.

At last, he dares to ask, "Good happy?"

Several heartbeats pass as her eyes drop to her hands and then slowly travel up to meet his gaze again. It doesn't escape him, the deep breath she takes in before answering, yet he remains silent as she gives him a careful smile.

"Lonely happy."

Features softening, he rips his eyes from hers in what she can only discern as sorrow.

"Listen," she tries, her smile breaking, "you're just having a bad day, that's all. Happens to the best of us."

"Yeah…" he says absently. "Yeah, you're probably right. I really gotta—" He waves the folder in the air. "I should go give these files to Bones but, um, thanks for everything, Cam."

"Anytime. Hey, Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"We all make mistakes."

"I know. Thanks, Cam. Oh, and for the record, that was way longer than a minute."

A brief laugh flies through her lips. "Get out."

As he exits the office and heads for the bones storage, he notices something's changed. His spirit feels lighter, like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Images of his time with Hannah fly through his head and suddenly, he's a hundred percent sure.

The good, the bad … he's past all that. It's time to flip the page.

By the time he makes it downstairs, there are only two things in his mind. One is the ring he needs to return (ah, the fun stuff he'll get to do with Parker using that money) and the other is, unsurprisingly, her.

"Bones? Hey, Bones, where are you?" His eyes scan the place as he lets out a cheery whistle. "You forgot to sign the last page on the Anderson file. Bones?"

"I'm here, Booth."

He spins around just in time to see her materialize from behind a huge mountain of wooden boxes, the word FRAGILE decorating most of them. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and although she does look tired, he recognizes the eager glint in her clear eyes.

"I take it Christmas came early this year," he says with a smile. "When did these arrive?"

"A little past four this morning." As if on cue, a yawn escapes her lips and she knuckles the sleep from her eyes. "You said something about the Anderson file. What is it?"

"Yeah, you forgot to sign the last page. Look, here." He hands her the folder, concern flying across his face. "Who received the remains?"

"I did. Why?"

"Wait, so you're telling me you've been here since four in the morning?"

She gives him a look. "Of course not." Her eyes drop to the file and she adds, "I went for a run before work, stopped by my apartment and then came back."

"For god's sake, Bones," he grunts.

"This isn't the final version of the file," she states, deliberately ignoring his complaint as she hands him the folder back. "That's why it isn't properly signed. I made some last minute adjustments to it, the version that you require should be on my desk."

Without even giving him time to reply, she yanks the white gloves off and heads for the stairs, Booth following her hot on her heels. Once in her office his eyes never leave her as she disposes of her lab coat, searches through the the insane amount of folders and papers scattered on her desk and smiles at the sight of the one she's been looking for.

"Here. I'm sorry you had to come all the way here, Booth. I'll make sure to double-check in the future."

"Don't worry about it, Bones." As he takes the file from her, his eyes land on the red scratches tainting her skin and next thing she knows, he has her hand in his, pulling her closer to take a better look. "What happened to your arm?"

His worried gaze is skittering down her arm but hers is fixed on him — on the thin line between his brows, the dark circles under his eyes and the rough stubble threatening to grow into a beard. In spite of herself, she shivers, hyper aware of his closeness and the way his hands are holding hers.

"Bones," he drags her back to reality, "what happened?"

"It's nothing, Booth." With a shake of her head, she forces herself to step away from him and marches over to her desk, leaving his fingers to linger in the air for a few seconds. "A man collided with me when I was jogging this morning. The scratches were simply caused by the tree I was pushed against as a result of the collision."

"He _what_?"

Once again, she ignores his tone, busying herself with the folders lying on her desk instead. "It was an accident, Booth. I came out of nowhere and he was—and I quote—pretty distracted. He apologized several times and even offered to buy me coffee in what served as a satisfactory apology according to my standards."

"Oh, okay. Right. Did you… did you accept the," he clears his throat, "the coffee invitation?"

"No," she says simply. "It didn't seem necessary."

The room goes silent as a small smile forms on Booth's lips and she, due to the lack of response from his side, looks up with a frown.

"Why? Do you think I should have?"

"Huh?"

"Taken upon his invitation. Was it rude of me not to?"

"No!" he exclaims, way quicker than intended. "I mean, no. You can, um, do whatever you feel like, Bones."

She smiles, content with her social skills after all. "Of course. Was there anything else?"

"Nope. Got the file, got the signature," he waves towards her, "and your arm seems okay."

"It is."

He rocks on his spot. "Good."

"Yes."

"Right. Um, yeah. Great."

"Swell," they hear from the door. Angela's gaze flicker from one partner to the other as they stare at her. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I could join the Thousand Ways to Say 'Good' In game, but I guess you're not taking in more players." She gives Booth a smile. "Hey there, Studly."

"Ange," he greets her with a grin. "How are you feeling today?"

"Like a whale lying in the middle of the desert, without any water or hope and pretty much about to explode," she says with a heavy sigh, then catches Booth's half amused, half worried expression. "But still, you know, cheery."

He gives a light chuckle. "Sounds a bit stressful."

"Trust me, _stressful_ is the understatement of the year."

"Well, I'm sure it'll get better. Listen, I gotta head back to the Hoover now, but take care of yourself, all right?" He flashes Brennan a smile. "Have fun with your Christmas presents, Bones. See ya' tomorrow."

Angela follows him with her eyes until he vanishes past the platform and suppresses a grin as she turns to Brennan and catches her doing the same. There's been a lot of furtive glances between the two of them lately but she's chosen not to say anything for now. After all, they've just started to fall back into normalcy—or to whatever it is that they call normal—and if furtive glances that _sometimes_ intersect is enough for them at the moment, then so be it. God knows it won't be long until something shakes things up.

"Hodgins wants me to stop working after this case," she comments casually.

Brennan rips her gaze from the platform and studies her friend's nearly fully-grown belly. "That's probably a wise thing to do."

"Yeah, not much left now. Just a few days and then …" She stops mid-sentence with a vague shake of her head and hands Brennan a piece of paper as she lets her body fall down on the chair. "There's the sketch that you wanted. It's just a preliminary draft for now but once Wendell's done with the skull I'll be able to give you something more concrete."

Not taking in any of her words about the murder case, she glances at her from beneath her lashes. "Are you nervous?"

Angela lets out a low chuckle. "And awfully transparent, it seems like."

"Your reasons to be concerned are understandable, Ange, but you've had a placid pregnancy so far and every test result has turned out to be positive for you and the baby. Rationally speaking, the birth should be just as uncomplicated."

"Sweetie, I appreciate you making an exception and substituting reality with optimism just to make me feel better, I do, but complications can occur no matter how placid my pregnancy has been." As if her body's trying to prove a point, she feels a huge kick from the baby and winces due to the stinging, yet fleeting pain that washes over her. "See?"

Brennan bites her bottom lip, concern taking over her features as well. "Statistically, there is always a risk."

"I know," the artist murmurs, placing a hand on her belly. "Hey, do you wanna get out of the lab for a while and grab a bite? I've been craving some fruit salad for hours."

"An early lunch sounds quite appealing," she says with a smile. "I just need to reply to my publisher about a deadline before we leave. Can you give me fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be in my office, so come by when you're done."

After she rises from the chair, it takes her barely a second to notice it. The sensation is strange, as if she's lost loads of weight without even lifting a finger. She feels lighter, odd, suddenly overwhelmed, and as her gaze aims for the floor, she knows she's only doing it in order to get some sort of confirmation because deep down, _she knows_.

"Um, Bren?"

Already immerse in her own world, Brennan mutters a barely audible, "Yes?"

"It seems like I'll have to stop working before scheduled."

She looks up to Angela, a small frown settled between her brows.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure that my water just broke."

One second, two seconds, three seconds …

Eyes wide, Brennan rounds the desk and witnesses the evidence to what the artist just told her. Her eyes flicker between the floor and her friend a couple of times until she manages a, "Hospital," to which Angela simply nods her head vehemently and adds, "Hodgins."

By the time they get to the bug man's office, Angela's breathing is agitated, her palms sweaty and her eyes conveying the cocktail of emotions bubbling inside her. One look at her is enough for Hodgins to jump from his seat and march over to them, leaving a shocked Wendell behind.

"What's happening?" he wants to know, panic already running throughout his voice.

"It-it appears that Angela's going into labor."

"_Now?_"

"No, next week!" the artist roars. "Yes, _now_, you idiot. Get the car!"

"No," Brennan chimes in, "Hodgins can't—he's too anxious. I don't believe letting him drive is the best idea." Her lips part to say that she'll do it but she decides against it when Angela's grip on her hand tightens. "Mr. Bray, can you take us to the hospital?"

The grad-student jumps from his seat. "Me? D-drive?"

"Yes," she snaps, rapidly running out of patience. "_Can you do that?_"

—&—

**A/N:** Good, bad, awful, unreadable? Hit me with your opinions, guys! I didn't have time to read through it before posting it and I'm still in need of a beta, so I apologize for whatever mistake you might find. Oh, and by the way, guess who will be spending the night alone in a cabin in a couple of chapters? ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **A little something to celebrate having reached hundred reviews :D Enjoy! The next chapter is focused entirely on B&B and should be up soon. As usual, I count on you to call me out on any mistakes you might find. Oh, and remember: my tiny writer soul feeds on your reviews. Heh.

—&—

"Dammit, it looks like an hemorrhage."

"Page Dr. Rush, _now_!"

"She's losing blood!"

"Sir, you can't—you can't be in here."

"But my wife—"

"We're taking her to the O.R. Page Dr. Rush!"

"Already did!"

"Well, page her again!"

"My son, _where are you taking him_?"

"The nursery—sir, please wait outside."

A few minutes of bliss. That's all they get once the baby is born.

Between cries and curses, they make it to the hospital just as Angela's contractions begin to get more intense and painful. The nurses take her to a room where only Hodgins is allowed at first and after that, they wait. Wait for the contractions to get worse, wait for her to be ready.

Wendell goes back to the lab but arrives a few hours later with Cam who assures them that she left everything in order at the Jeffersonian.

"This is the part where we wait for results anyway, so we might as well wait here," she concludes with a smile.

Another hour flies by.

Booth storms into the waiting room while Hodgins is talking to one of the doctors and Brennan's making Angela company. Several apologies trip over his lips as he tells Cam and Wendell about the scheduled meeting with some of his superiors that he just couldn't postpone.

"Where's Sweets?" the pathologist inquires.

"Caught up in a meeting as well but he should be here soon."

As the minutes ticks by, Angela's patience starts to crack along with what's left of her good manners until finally, it's time. They watch Hodgins jog after the hospital bed as she's transferred to the delivery room, a mix of fear and joy clear in both their eyes. And then, they wait. Again. Cam sneaks out for a few minutes and comes back reeking tobacco, Wendell keeps drumming his fingers anxiously against his thighs, Booth alternates between leaning against the wall and pacing the room and Brennan simply remains in her seat in complete silence, casting brief glances at the clock across the room every now and then. Nurses and doctors keep rushing by, some of them more in a hurry than others but all immerse in their own worlds, just like the four people sitting in the silent waiting room.

And then, he materializes from around the corner, his expression blank and unreadable. Brennan is the first one to catch a glimpse of him and the first one to rise from her seat, shortly followed by the others. When Hodgins speaks, he does it absently and in short sentences, leaving Booth no other choice but to metaphorically drag the rest of the events out of him. After telling them everything he knows so far, the bug man excuses himself in a cracking voice and promises that he will be back in a while. Wendell collapses back on his chair and Booth runs a hand through his hair while Cam simply stands still on her spot and processes the information. Brennan, whose brain works considerably faster, doesn't say a word.

Time feels surreal, eternal, practically unnecessary.

It isn't until at least half an hour later that Sweets arrives with Daisy, both of them panting and showing clear signs that they ran at least all the way form the parking lot.

"Did we make it in time?" the psychologist asks between heavy breaths. At lack of response, he scans the room and the people in it wearing somber expressions. "What—what happened?"

Silence.

His stomach drops when Daisy squeezes his hand, yet he tries again. "Guys, what's going on?"

"Angela's in surgery," Cam says in a breath.

"Surgery? What do you—did she already have the baby? Where's Hodgins?"

"Yes, she had the baby. It's a boy and Hodgins is… he's with him now. There were complications during the birth — she suffered of massive internal bleeding so they kicked him out as soon as the baby was born, took her to the O.R. and now … now we're waiting."

"Waiting for what? Is she going to be okay? Have the doctors said anything?"

Unable to remain in that confined space for another single instant, let alone listen to Cam repeat what she's already heard once, Brennan mutters an "Excuse me" and rushes out of the room. Booth makes a move to follow her but stops himself as he catches Cam's troubled expression, so instead of going after his partner, he stays and gives the pathologist a hand in explaining the recent events for Sweets and Daisy. Afterwards, and feeling the urge to get out of there as well, he offers to go fetch some coffee and heads for the second floor and the cafeteria.

Meanwhile, Brennan stands in silence next to Hodgins, both pair of eyes fixed on one particular hospital crib, the one that hides and protects one particular newborn. Through the nursery window, they watch him toss and turn in his sleep, his cheeks red and his lips slightly purple.

"His name is Michael," the bug man says in a murmur. Slowly, she rips her gaze from the crib and turns to look at him, but he keeps his eyes on his son as he continues. "We'd decided that if it was a boy, it'd be either Oliver or Michael. I wasn't sure how we were gonna be able to pick one of them but when we saw him, I guess we just knew. It was the last thing she told me before she was induced into sleep. She said 'Michael' and it was like she'd read my thoughts." He draws a deep breath. "I've loved her forever. I mean, I don't even know how to live in a world where she doesn't exists and yet, we never talked about it. Never talked about the possibility of her… When I think about all the wasted time …" He runs a hand over his face, then cups his chin in it and adds, "We discussed baby names."

"Baby names are important," she says softly, her gaze wandering back to Michael.

With a small smile forming on his lips, Hodgins turns to look at her. "Yeah?"

"Yes. There is a clear sense of bonding between the expectant parent or parents when choosing the possible names for their future child. Not only does it forge a significant link, but it also—in most cases—allows for a further exploration of your life and perhaps even other cultures."

Features softening, he stares at her in awe for a moment before a sincere "Thank you" slips between his lips.

They stay there in complete silence for what feels like hours until she suggests that they go back in case there are any news regarding Angela's surgery. Once they walk into the waiting room, Booth welcomes them each with coffee and a sandwich from the cafeteria.

"You okay, Bones?" the agent asks her quietly as Hodgins takes the seat next to Cam.

Her lips part but the reply dies in her throat as they hear footsteps approaching. As soon as he catches sight of Dr. Rush, Hodgins jumps from his seat, hands Cam his coffee and crosses the distance between him and the other doctor. Since they're both within clear earshot, none of the others mirrors his actions, but stay behind in order to at least grant them the illusion of privacy.

"My apologies for making you wait, Mr. Hodgins," she says as she shoves a pen inside the upper pocket of her white coat.

Her clinical tone makes the room go silent, the air suddenly full with the moment. Next to Booth, Brennan sucks in a deep breath and without even giving it a second thought nor caring about the people around, he reaches for her hand and takes it in his. Her eyes drop to their joined hands for a fraction but, as the surgeon's voice echoes in the room, her focus switches automatically back to the two people standing by the door.

"As you already know," Dr. Rush goes on, "there were postpartum complications, one of them being severe blood loss. The surgery went, however, surprisingly well and we managed to not only stop the bleeding in time but also repair the damage caused to her uterus."

The clock resumes its ticking. The footsteps around them gain force. Suddenly, the whole place goes back to life.

"She's—she's gonna be fine?"

"I will be able to tell you more once she wakes up, but yes, Mr. Hodgins. Your wife should be just fine."

"Where's is she now?" he asks almost tripping over himself. "Can I see her?"

Dr. Rush gives him a warm smile. "She's asleep in her room. You can go see her if you want, just keep in mind that it'll be a while until she wakes up. And since the baby's completely healthy, I see no reason for her to be hospitalized longer than a couple of days, although it will all depend on how she feels when she wakes up."

"Yes, of course," Hodgins says nodding vehemently. "Thank you, Dr. Rush."

"Room 147," she tells him before walking away.

He turns around to look at his friends, relief and happiness decorating his face in form of a huge grin. A few unintelligible words trip over his lips before Cam shakes her head at him and sends him off to see Angela. Sweets and Daisy sit back down with smiles almost as big as the bug man's, Wendell says something about all of them being in need of some real food and Booth forces himself to let go of Brennan's hand as quietly as he'd grabbed it minutes ago. Before any of them notices it, another hour has passed, something that only hits them once Hodgins gets back and asks Wendell for a quick ride home and then back. Cam leaves soon after them claiming that she has her own kid with a cold at home and she's closely followed by Sweets and a utterly exhausted Daisy.

Palming the back of his neck, Booth turns slowly around to face his partner. "Looks like we're the only ones left, Bon—" But he stops himself as his eyes land on the empty chair.

In fact, the whole room is empty except for him.

Now that he thinks about it, she must have slipped away from the group after Hodgins left with Wendell because he doesn't remember seeing her after that. The clock hanging on the wall indicates it's almost midnight and, as he glances at it, he just can't help but give a light chuckle. It seems surreal that seventeen hours ago he was being tormented by something as insignificant as a ring.

When he arrives to room 147 twenty minutes later, he's not at all surprised by what he sees through the open blinds although the scene still make his chest clench slightly. Brennan's sitting on a chair next to the artist's bed, her arms resting on the edge of it serving as a pillow and her face buried between them. Her sleep can't have been very profound though, because she jerks up as soon as the door's pushed open, clear and tired eyes darting to him.

"Booth," she murmurs sleepily. "What happened? Is Hodgins back?"

He shakes his head in response. "We're the only ones left, though. How long have you been here?"

"A while."

"Yeah, I figured. Listen, Bones, it's been a long day…" Somehow sure of where he's going, she opens her mouth to protest but he cuts her off gently. "You need to go home and get some decent sleep and since I know that your car is left at the lab," he gestures towards the door, "come on. I'll give you a ride."

"No," she says, and he can just hear the obstinacy running through her voice. "I want to stay."

"Bones, it might be hours before she wakes up. C'mon, you can't spend the night in that plastic chair."

"I'm quite adept at adjusting to hostile sleeping environments." He gives her a look that she's gotten from him so many times she doesn't have any problems deciphering it now. "I don't …" she trails off, eyes flickering between him and the sleeping Angela. "I don't want her to wake up and not have someone next to her."

_Protecting from what!_  
– _From me! I… I don't have your kind of open heart._

"Booth," she drags him back to the present. "Are you feeling okay? You look upset."

Blinking away the memory of that night by the Hoover, he gives her a smile. "Yeah, it's—I'm okay. I'll wait for you outside, all right?"

"You don't need to stay because of me."

"Yeah, nice try."

As he walks out of the room leaving the door ajar, _he knows_. He would wait for her forever.

Between glances at the clock and eyelids that get heavier by the minute, she begins to surrender to the kindness of sleep. Much later, and just as she's about to give in completely, she hears it.

"Hey…"

The word is dragged softly, almost in a whisper, but loud enough for Brennan to unbury her head from between her arms and meet Angela's drowsy expression. She's looking at her with a weak smile on her face, her features tired and her skin pale. Slowly, Brennan returns the smile and tries in vain to blink back the unshed tears that are all of a sudden—and very inconveniently—blurring her vision.

"Hey, no. Honey, don't cry …" Using the little strength she has at the moment, Angela squeezes her friend's hand. "I'm okay, see? Everything's fine. Don't cry, Bren, because if you cry then I'll start crying and then …"

Brennan nods and wipes away a few tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Like somebody ran me over with a car." She attempts to sit up but her expression conveys just how unbearable the pain is and she falls back on the pillow with a sigh. "Guess that won't work."

"You suffered from severe blood loss, Ange. The prognosis is good, but rest is essential in order for you to heal up satisfactory."

Stubborn as usual, she shakes her head. "Where is he, Bren? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. They took him to the nursery and he's been there ever since. We have all been to see him."

"You have? How is he?"

"Well, his weight and size are within the normal parameters and although he was mildly affected by the complications that arose during the birth, he seems to have recovered very well."

She lets out a soft chuckle. "That's all very good to know, sweetie."

"He's healthy, Ange. Healthy and beautiful."

Eyes watering, she looks at the scientist and murmurs, "Yeah?"

"Yes," Brennan says with a wide smile.

"Where is—" Her gaze scans the corridor outside the room. "Where's Jack?"

"He went back to your house to get some things you might need but he should be back any moment now."

Angela goes silent for a few seconds, then cautiously asks, "Do you think I can see him? Michael?"

Some vague knocks on the doorframe interject before she has to chance to get an answer. A smiling Booth crosses him arms and leans against the frame, his eyes fixed on the new mom.

"I already talked to one of the nurses," he tells her. "She'll be here with Michael in a while."

The artist beams widely at him. "I knew I could count on your charm, Studly."

"Always. Listen, I'll be outside in case you need anything."

"Actually…" She turns to Brennan, her eyes kind and warm. "Bren, do you mind? I'd like to have a word with Booth in private."

"Of course." Before walking out, she leans down and places a quick kiss on the artist forehead. "I'm really glad you're okay, Ange."

The artist looks up with a grin. "Love you too, sweetie."

The door closes softly behind Brennan and it isn't until she's gone that he realizes he hasn't been alone with Angela in what feels like ages. Sure, they've chatted when he has stopped by the lab or when the whole squint squad has celebrated the end of a case at the Founding Fathers (he even has the vague impression of bumping into her at the Royal Diner one particularly warm morning), but alone in a room like this?

Hyper aware of the silence settled between them as well as anxious to find out what's on her mind, he walks over to the bed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck out of pure habit.

"How are you doing, Ange?"

Several heartbeats pass. His gut churns, her hands fold the edge of the white sheets.

"I was mad at you," she says at last, her eyes meeting his. "I was… God, I was so mad at you for so long, Booth."

Despite her being the one lying in the hospital bed, he can tell by the firm tone of her voice that their roles are going to be the complete opposite to what one might think.

"Ange …"

Wish a shake of her head, she stops him. "No, I… I really need you to let me say this, so if you could just… She's my best friend, Booth. She's reckless and stubborn, and God knows she sucks when it comes to pop culture references but she's my best friend and I will always protect her. I will always stand by her side."

He gulps, suddenly torn between wanting to get the hell out of there and staying to hear her out. "I know, Ange."

"It hurt her. When she had to say no, when she didn't see other way out but to leave, when we all came back. That night you pulled her off the path of that car. It all hurt her. She never said anything, not really, but I… I still knew." She casts a brief glance at the scientist waiting outside, then looks back to him. "And on top of that, you started to ditch the lab and didn't even show up when Hodgins and I made the baby announcement—no, let me finish. I was hurt, she was hurt… but… you were wounded too, weren't you?" He opens his mouth to speak but it's obvious that he's at a loss for words. A sad smile tugs at her corners of her lips as her hand reaches for his. "Still are. I'm really sorry, Booth."

"Don't be." His eyes are fixed on her hand lying on top of his, the contrast between fragile and strong almost contradictory to their roles in the conversation they're having. He chuckles softly. "Listen, I'm … I'm sorry, too."

She looks down with a vague nod. "I know," she says softly as her eyes lock with his again. "I didn't tell her about that night you went to her apartment."

"I …"

"I'm just saying, she doesn't know."

As if wanting to prove what a timing he has, Hodgins enters the room with a bag dangling over his shoulder, his face ecstatic and his hand on the door-handle.

"I'm—I'm sorry," he says, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his wife, "I heard that you were awake and I just—"

"She's all yours, man," Booth assures him with a grin. "Where's Wendell?"

"He was barely keeping his eyes open so I gave him a ride home before coming back."

"All right, good."

He exits the room just as the bug man lets the bag fall down to the floor and rushes to the bed. Out in the corridor, Brennan watches the tender scene in silence until Booth comes up to her. He leans against the wall, next to her, and when he speaks his voice sounds as tired as he feels.

"Ready to go home, Bones?"

She gives him a nod and a adorable smile. "Yes."

They say their goodbyes to the new parents and head for the parking lot. Slowly, fatigue mutes into restlessness and somewhere between a red light and him telling her about the crappy food he came across at the cafeteria, they decide to stop by the Chinese food restaurant near her building and have a very, very late lunch/dinner at her place. Once they make it to her floor, her eyes drop to the thin gap between the bottom of her door and the floor.

"That's strange," she comments, her nose wrinkling.

"What is?"

"I don't recall leaving the lights on."

She pushes the key into the lock and the rest happens within seconds. The instant he hears a strange noise coming from inside the apartment, he yanks his gun out and forces her gently out of the way. Before stepping inside, Booth gestures for her to be quiet as he slowly pushes the door open with his shoulder. However, what—_or whom_—he finds sitting by the table definitely catches him off guard.

"For crying out loud, boy, put that gun away."

"M-Max?" Booth manages as she breezes by his side and into the apartment.

"Dad?"

"Honey!" he exclaims walking towards her. Max pulls her into a hug that she, due to the surprise, reciprocates half-heartedly and adds, "How ya' doing, sweetheart?"

_Thank God he isn't dead_, the agent ponders as the gun is returned to its place.

She pulls back, relief and shock washing over her. "I'm good. Fine. I'm—I'm fine. Dad, what are you doing here? How—" Brennan casts a glance at the door. "How did you get in?"

"C'mon, honey, it's me you're talking to. I've got my ways, you know that. And don't worry, nobody got killed in the process," he says with a vibrant laugh.

"That's not—" Her eyes flicker between her father and her partner. "That's not amusing."

Max lets out a chuckle. "Well, it would be if you laughed." His narrowed gaze lands then on the agent standing by the door. "Booth."

"Max," he greets back. "Great to see you."

"Wish I could say the same."

"Dad!"

Max's head snaps in her direction, all the goofiness now replaced by a severe look. "Don't 'dad' me, Temperance. I got back from Mexico yesterday and was welcomed by an answering machine filled with messages from a hysterical Russ, a worried Amy and a very hormonal Angela. Not a single message from you by the way, but we'll deal with that in a moment." He turns to face Booth. "Care to explain how you let my daughter get kidnapped?"

He feels his gut clenching inside him and barely manages to stammer out a vague "I'm—I didn't …" before Brennan interjects again.

"It wasn't Booth's fault, Dad. And as you probably know from the date of those messages, it happened over a month ago. All of my injuries have healed and the man responsible for the kidnapping is dead — there's nothing to be worried about."

"Well, I just found out, honey, so forgive me for freaking out a little," Max says softly as he places both hands on her shoulders. "What can I do for you? Is there anything you need?"

In spite of herself, Brennan feels her lips curving up into a smile. "Nothing, Dad," she says with a vague shake of her head. "As a matter of fact, Booth and I were about to—"

"Actually, Bones…" the agent cuts her off, causing two pair of eyes to land on him. Not wanting to intrude any longer, he jerks a finger over his shoulder and toward the front door. "I think I'm gonna head off."

A glimpse of disappointment flashes across her eyes and she unconsciously steps forward as she asks, "What? But the food?"

"Yeah, Booth," Max begins, arms folding defiantly across his chest, "I know it's school night but it's only …" His eyes wander to the clock hanging by the wall. "3 A.M. Wait, why are you—where have you two been?"

The partners exchange a look and then proceed to tell Max about Angela, the birth and the day they all had at the hospital. Somewhere in between, food cartons are ripped open and seats by the table are taken and, as he walks out of the building and into the cold early morning over an hour later, he can't help but let a smile spread across his face. Regardless all the things that went wrong, he's sure, for the first time in months, that everything will be all right.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Heya guys! I know a lot of you are getting impatient, but worry not because there's not much left now. I've tried my best to stay true to these characters and to write this story in a way that makes sense, so I won't rush anything despite however much I might want to. Anyway, the new chapter's here and I must say I actually enjoyed writing this one a lot so I really hope you like it! :) Your reviews make my heart go all giddy so throw me a bone on your way out, yeah? (see what I did there? Hehe)

—&—

She's astute and straightforward.

He's trustworthy and hardheaded.

She enjoys rainy days as long as she's indoors.

He hates them no matter what.

She always chooses wine.

He definitely prefers a cold beer.

She relies in reason and evidence.

He puts his faith in God and his St. Christopher medal.

She eats rabbit food according to him.

He should quit cigars according to her.

She's beautiful.

He's handsome.

She suspects she's in love and doesn't know what to do about it.

He knows he's in love and wouldn't have it any other way.

Warm summer evolves into chilly autumn, early mornings turn into late nights and broken hearts are filled by yearning spirits. Cautiously, they heal and move forward between whole-hearted laughs and fleeting arguments.

A transition.

-x-

She catches herself staring at him one night while they're on a stakeout. Both his sight and hearing are on high alert and she can tell by the lines on his forehead that he's entirely focused on their little mission. It still takes her by surprise, the way she's learned to decipher most aspects of him through the years, as does the warm feeling that washes over her whenever she thinks about it.

After several, eternal minutes, his brow furrows and he blows out a heavy sigh — he's getting impatient, and so is she. Her gaze wanders back to the poorly illuminated alley located to the right of the car. Nothing has happened in over an hour.

"You okay there, Bones?"

"Of course," she replies quietly, eyes fixed on the alley just in case something happens. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He straightens himself in the seat, arms folding loosely across his chest. "You're a little quiet tonight, that's all."

"So are you."

"Yeah, but to be fair, I've never been a man of many words while on stakeouts." A brief laugh flies through his lips. "You, on the other side …" He trails off as she turns to face him, eyes narrowing in a silent threat. "What I meant was that you, um, always have something to fill the silence with in situations like this."

The unmistakable sound of raindrops bouncing against the roof of the car follows his words before she gets the chance to formulate an answer. Her gaze (deep, bright and unreadable) travels from his eyes to his lips, to the black coat with a turtleneck that he hasn't worn in years, and then up to his eyes again.

_She died with regrets.  
– Come on, Bones. Everybody has regrets._

His cold car, the pouring rain and her sanity cracking along with every raindrop.

As if the memory had burned her, she rips her gaze away from his.

"Perhaps you should call Charlie and find out why Agent Adams is taking so long to lure the suspect here," she murmurs, her focus now switching back to the empty alley.

-x-

He stands in silence, his feet glued to the floor and two sweaty hands buried deep down in the pockets of his suit. After what feels like an eternity, Cullen's eyes fall back to the reports lying on his desk.

"So, basically," he begins, his voice almost infuriatingly calm, "what you're saying is that she gets notified no matter what."

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't give a rat's ass about national security or the possible previous psychological evaluation."

Booth's reply is precise and immediate. "When it comes to this, no, sir. I do not." Upon hearing his sharp tone of voice, he adds, "Bones is … she's in no way a threat to the FBI or the government. She would never jeopardize any assignment, secret or not."

"I see," his boss says, gaze now traveling up to meet the agent's. "Is there something else I should know about?"

"Not that I can think of."

"So your relationship with Dr. Brennan is …"

He swallows the lump in his throat before supplying the answer. "Strictly professional, sir."

"Well, then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

Utterly shocked, he blinks once, twice, three times.

"Pardon me?"

"Please, Agent Booth, this can't possibly come as a surprise," Cullen says leaning back on his seat. "Dr. Brennan may be brilliant, yes, and a highly valuable asset to us but she is not above the law or the FBI. If anything were to happen to you—which, of course, none of us wishes for—and if she's on the list, she'll get notified. I can't promise you more than that."

"With all due respect, sir," his eyes drop involuntary to his feet for a second but he forces them back up again, "she was on the list last time as well but didn't get notified. For two whole weeks, she thought I was dead."

"I've read the reports, Agent Booth. I know what happened. And wasn't there a FBI shrink involved in that?"

"Sweets—Dr. Lance Sweets, yes. He thought at the time that it'd be the best if she didn't know."

"Well, there you have it," he concludes spreading his palms. "I'm sorry, Booth, but those are the rules. She's not your relative or your romantic partner. She's not even FBI. And even if she was, you know I can't give any guarantees."

His lips part in hesitation and a "Sir, _please_" slips between them before his pride has the chance to glue them back together.

Consternation flashes across Cullen's small eyes as a long silence settles itself between him and the agent. "I will look into it," he says at last, eyes going back to the files on his desk. "However, and as I said before, I won't make any promises."

Booth stands a little taller. "Yes, sir. Thank you," he says with a nod and attempts to leave.

"Agent Booth?" the deputy director calls him, his gaze never leaving the desk.

"Yes?"

"If the status of your relationship with Dr. Brennan were to ever change—"

"We're just partners, sir."

Cullen gives him a stern look. "_If_ it were to change, Agent Booth, then I'd rather not hear it from some agents gossiping in the corridors. You can go back to work now."

-x-

She overhears some agents talking about them one morning on her way to Sweets' office. It's early and there aren't many people on the floor so the male voice coming from the coffee room has no problem catching her attention as she walks through the empty corridor.

"Hey, what ever happened to that blonde chick Booth was going out with?"

In spite of her knowing better, she freezes a few steps from the room, her chest suddenly tight at the mention of Booth and Hannah's relationship. It seems like it was so long ago since she met him by the reflecting pool upon their return to D.C. and he broke the news for her, when in reality not even a year has passed since said reunion.

"You mean the journalist?" a second, much darker voice replies. "No clue. Haven't seen her in a while so they probably broke it off."

"Hmm, too bad. She was kinda hot."

"You kidding me, right? She was _smokin' hot_."

The memory of Angela (and nearly every single one of her interns) making the same statement about the blonde cause her to smile slightly. It certainly feels like it was a long time ago.

"The scientist's not bad herself, though. Not bad at all."

"Ha, I've had the hots for her since Booth first brought her to the bureau." Inside the room, someone slams a microwave door shut. "Not that anyone's ever had a chance, territorial as he's always been when it comes to her."

"What's the deal with those two anyway? You think he's hitting that?"

"Booth and the scientist? No way. Can you imagine? Talk about an odd couple."

"Couple?" he scoffs. "What are you, a girl? I meant sex, you moron."

_Go_, says the voice inside her head._  
Just turn around and leave._

She knows she should walk away. She _wants_ to walk away. What other people say, it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. But just as she's about to let brain win over heart and turn around in the opposite direction, three final, poisonous sentences reach her ears.

"I guess we'll find out sooner or later. You really think that now that the blonde is gone he's not gonna bounce back to the scientist chick? He's a former gambler, man, and she's the ace up his sleeve."

Before all the data's completely stored and analyzed, she finds herself in front of the elevator, her thumb viciously pushing the button in a foolish attempt to hurry the process of getting the hell out of the building.

-x-

He has to fight the urge to beat up an arrogant jerk from Public Affairs that knocks on his office door one morning, his sole intention being to find out whether Brennan is or isn't on the market.

"Because, you know, rumor has it she ain't got your love anymore and now that Sullivan's gone … well, I thought I'd take her for a ride if you know what I mean," he says with a sassy smirk, one that fades away as soon as he catches Booth's far from cheerful expression. "Oh, come on, Booth," he whines, "if you're not hitting that then you can at least give the rest of us your blessing so that we can give it a try."

"Watch your mouth," he practically spits the words out. "You watch your damn mouth when you speak about my partner."

Firm hands travel up in surrender as a laugh escapes the man's lips. "Whoa, easy there. She's just a gal, man. No need to get all worked because for her."

"Get out of my office, Walker, because I swear to God I won't think twice."

The tone of his voice shoots several shivers up and down the other man's spine (after all, Booth's temperament does have quite a reputation among most agents at the bureau) and he's actually about to obey when something inside him snaps.

"You know what, it's not like anyone needs your freaking blessing anyway. If you're not screwing her then everyone else is sure as hell free to try."

He rises from his seat in a fraction, eyes burning, jaw set and hands griping the edge of the desk. The only thing that's stopping him from rounding his desk and beating the crap out of him is the people currently staring at them from outside his office. "Come again?"

"Unless, hm, you've got a problem with that," the other agent stammers out, now fully intimidated. "This was a—yeah, this was a bad idea. Just …" He steps backward. "Forget it ever happened."

As the other agent rushes out of his office, Sweets enters it looking perplexed at the dramatic departure he's just witnessed.

"What was all that about?" he wants to know jerking a thumb over his shoulder and towards the door.

Booth simply slams the folder shut and falls back on his seat.

"Nothing."

-x-

She steps away from the punching bag one particularly dark evening, her breathing hitched and her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage. The clock hanging on the wall tells her it's even later than she'd imagined but she decides to go for another round despite the fact that she'll probably be late for dinner with Max.

It's all worth it the moment her gloved fist hits the heavy cylindrical bag though, because the rush of adrenaline starts to pump through her veins immediately. However, one single jab is never enough, so she strikes it again.

And again.

And again and again and again.

Her moves get quicker, rougher and bolder by the second and a small smile plays around her lips as she silently thanks her body for being so in synch with her mental state.

She's just—

_Slam._

—so—

_Kick._

—mad—

_Strike._

—at him.

After yanking off the heavy bag gloves and tossing them on the gym bench, she wipes away the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, hoping—irrational as it is—that her bad mood will vanish as well.

The worst part of their argument isn't even that he refused to let her make her point or that he stormed off her office without even glancing back. No, that's not what still has her riled up and she's rational enough to see it, even if it's taken one and a half hour of combat against a punching bag for her to admit it.

Her eyes fly shut for a moment, her breathing gets more even and her thoughts wander back to him. Although it's been hours since their fight, she can still see him in her mind: features rough, eyes burning through hers, hands on his hips and chest hard as a rock under the white dress shirt — she knows, she could practically feel it when he stepped forward and almost pinned her against her own desk.

That's why yoga couldn't do it this time.

Because, feelings aside, it's _dangerous_ how unbelievably close she was to yank him towards her and snog the rage out of him, and that's what's got her taking her frustration out on a punching bag at seven in the evening.

How is it even possible for him to infuriate her that much and still make her want him more than ever?

-x-

He doesn't even bother to hide the grin that shows up on his face when she walks into the diner one rainy morning. Her cheeks are rosy, her skin looks—if possible—even more porcelain-like and she's basically soaked from head to toe.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she says taking the seat across him and disposing of her coat. A wave of relief washes over him when he notices that the rest of her clothing is still dry. "I was leaving the apartment when I realized I didn't had the profile you need with me so I had to go back and—did you order?"

Her gaze lands on the steaming cup of coffee in front of him and she looks around in search for the waitress. They make eye contact and she lifts her finger giving the waitress a silent order along with a small smile.

"I also brought with me the other files we talked about." Several thick folders are yanked out of her bag. "It occurred to me that you might find them useful. Here … here … and here," she says sliding three folders towards him.

Booth (who's been busy staring at her since before she started talking in overdrive instead of actually paying full attention to what she was saying) takes a sip of his coffee as he watches her first sweep her auburn hair onto one shoulder and then brush some of her bangs off her eyelids and tuck them under the beanie she's wearing.

He looks down with a smile, one of many these days. She has no idea, the effect she can have on him.

"Booth …"

_Oh-oh._

She sounds annoyed.

"Booth, are you even listening?"

Her wide, clear eyes find his. "Huh? Yes, of course. Something about some fil—" he clears his throat, "some files you want me to take a look at."

"I thought they'd be useful on the case you're working without me."

He chuckles bitterly. "Right, the one they just tossed in my direction because nobody else would take it."

"You should see it as a compliment instead of solely focusing on the negative side of it," she states very matter-of-factly. The waitress arrives with her order and she shift her attention to her. "Thank you, Sarah."

Delicate fingers tear the sugar packet apart and she pours the grainy sweetener in her coffee and adds the cinnamon as his eyes follow every little step of hers. After a moment of tangible silence (it's not like any of them hears anything past their table), she lifts her gaze to meet his and catches him before he has the chance to look away.

She arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just that …" He shakes his head, attempting to hide his smile, then nods toward her head. "Beanies. They suit you."

-x-

She falls asleep on his couch one evening. _It's nothing that hasn't happened before_, he keeps telling himself as the struggle of whether or not he should wake her up starts taking place inside him. Several minutes of internal debate later (and a few of simply staring at her while sitting on the edge of the coffee table), he reaches out and attempts to gently shake her out of her sleep.

"Bones," he whispers. "Bones, wake up."

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she buries her face in one of the cushions. "Hmm …"

"Bones, come on." A smile plays around his lips and he has to bite the side of his cheek not to tell her to just stay the night. "You gotta, hm … didn't you say the other day that you had some work to do on your new book?"

The cushion muffles her answer, but he can still hear the obstinacy running throughout her voice when she says, "Already did. Chapter's ready and sent."

_God, she's stubborn. And so damn adorable. _He shakes his head._ Focus, Seeley Booth._

"Well, then what about those remains you said are coming in tomorrow?" Nothing. "Those from, what was it, the Iron Age that they're sending all the way from Denmark?"

Bingo.

Her eyes flutter open and she brings herself to a sitting position in a matter of seconds.

"Up," she murmurs, knuckling the sleep from her eyes. "I'm up."

He gives a low chuckle. "Yeah, I don't think so. Come on, you need to get home."

"Do not," the childish protest trips over her lips along with a shake of her head, one that manages to bring more lucidity to her train of thoughts. "I told you I'd help you find a new nursing home for Pops. We haven't read through half of these brochures yet."

"Don't worry about it, Bones. The shower made me kinda sleepy so I'll just continue the search tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he assures her with a crooked smile. "Thanks for coming over, though. Sorry I was such bad company."

"You're never bad company, Booth."

-x-

He dozes off in the loneliness of her office one afternoon after hours of waiting for the DNA results they need for one of his current cases. When she walks through the door about two hours later with her eyes fixed on a file Vincent just handed to her, she's startled by his soft snores at first, but one glance at the couch fills in the blanks and tells her everything she needs to know.

She leaves the file on the top of a pile of folders resting on her desk and then shortens the distance between the two of them by a few steps. From where she stands, she can see his chest rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling in an even, peaceful rhythm and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she notices the plaid blanket he loosely covered himself with and that's now half-hanging from his legs.

"Hey, sweetie, do you know if Booth's still around? Because Hodgins just told me that Cam has the resul—"

She presses a finger against her lips to silence her friend, then looks over to where her partner is sleeping. "He must have fallen asleep while waiting for the results," she says quietly.

"Poor thing," the artist whispers. "God, he must be exhausted, having to deal with two tough cases at once." She sneaks a glance at Brennan from the corner of her eye and catches her staring intensely in the couch's direction. "For the love of God, Brennan, could you _be_ more blatant?"

She spins around and marches over to her desk as if being near Angela were equal to radiation. "I don't know what that means."

"Sure you do," she scoffs and heads for the door. "Listen, I'll go get those results from Cam, I need to talk to her about coming back full time anyway." Before walking out, Angela throws her friend a look over her shoulder. "By the way, if it makes you feel better about your undeniable blatancy—"

"Ange!" she hisses.

"What? I was just gonna say that I don't see him sleeping in anyone else's office but yours."

-x-

They sit in the familiar couch without saying a word, both of them hyper aware of the fact that they're being studied in that shrinky manner only the young psychologist (and perhaps Wyatt too, although he's not so obvious about it) can pull off. Sweets is sitting across them as usual, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair and propping the hand that holds the side of his face as he watches them in silence.

Somehow—and this he knows because he's been paying extra attention to their interactions—they've managed to bounce back to something similar to what they had before. He looks healthier; she, less troubled. He's gone back to wearing his cocky belt buckle and she mentioned the new book she's been working on. He remains impulsive. She's as meticulous as ever. Their arguments about religion and politics are still the most heated discussions two people could have over apple pie and feta cheese salad.

They're solid, there's no doubt about it. And they're almost there. Almost.

"It take it everything is … _fine_ with you two?" he asks in a way to mock the answer he always seems to be getting from them. They nod their heads simultaneously and he has to fight back a grin. Always in synch. "Nothing new? Nothing since our last session?"

Silence.

Nothing at all. Just like last time. And the time before that.

_Well, that's it._

"Agent Booth," he says jerking his head towards him, "have to talked to Hannah lately?"

Booth's reaction is immediate. He tenses up and shoots Sweets a harsh look. "What—what does she have to do with any of this?"

But Sweets' eyes are fixed on Brennan and the way her gaze dropped to her hands at the mention of Booth's ex girlfriend. "And you, Dr. Brennan," he adds causing her to look up to him, "have you had any contact with Agent Sullivan since he left?"

"No," she says simply. Booth lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding but that Sweets has been fully aware of. She considers leaving her answer at that but decides against it and adds, "I must say that I fail to see how discussing these topics will be helpful in your task of making a successful evaluation of mine and Booth's partnership, Dr. Sweets."

"Exactly," Booth breaks in. "It has nothing to do with our professional lives."

"But everything to do with you two," the psychologist points out as he leans forward. "Let me guess, you haven't even talked about it."

She arches an eyebrow. "Talked about what?"

"Hannah and Agent Sullivan, and the impact those relationships had in your dynamic. Your personal relationship affects your work together, it'd be plain _stupid_ to pretend that's not the case."

"Hey!" the agent exclaims as she turns to him and whispers, "Is he allowed to use that language?"

The psychologist ignores both his protest and her comment and insists, "Have you talked about it or not?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Booth says through clenched teeth. "Bones and I were partners then and we're partners now. Nothing has changed."

"I agree."

Sweets lets out a scoff. "Yeah, you go on thinking that. Bottom line is, you're avoiding confrontation and, more sooner than later, everything you've been trying to suppress is gonna bounce back to you and there will be repercussions. Big repercussions."

"Wha—that's pure conjecture!"

"It's not, Dr. Brennan. Despite your own view on it, psychology is a valid field — a recognized one. I don't base my evaluations in loose facts. There's a science behind it and you know it."

"A soft science," she says with a huff.

"Say what you wish but you know I'm right." He casts a brief glance at Booth whose eyes he only meets briefly before the agent looks away. "Both of you."

With that said, he leans back and lets his word sink in. They're _almost_ there. They're almost where they were before, but there's no way to go back because it won't be enough. Being caught in a surrogate relationship, it's not going to work out this time and perhaps that's the realization that has them moving in slow-motion.

However, he doesn't have time to analyze them (or the furtive glances they're shooting at each other) any further because the door to his office is all of a sudden swung open and in rushes Charlie.

"Booth! There you are!" he exclaims. "God, I've been looking for you everywhere."

"What's going on?" the agent asks and he gets to his feet. Brennan mirrors his actions as well and turns her attention to Charlie, which causes Sweets to dramatically jump from his seat.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Session's not over, nobody's allowed—"

"Sorry, Sweets," Charlie cuts him off with a shrug, "but we need Booth and the Doc in the conference room."

"New case?"

"Yeah, man. We've been called to Berryville." He gives Brennan a chirpy smile. "They found one of your type of bodies, Doc. Heard it's nasty, even more than usual."

"Oh, okay. Your eagerness suggests it's urgent. I assume we are needed there today?"

"As soon as possible, yes. There's some trouble going on with the jurisdiction but hopefully it'll be solved by the time we get there." He glances at his watch. "If we leave now we'll be there before noon. So … conference room?"

Without even glancing back, she follows Charlie out of the room and though he makes a move to follow them as well, Booth stops before crossing the doorframe and spins around to face Sweets with both hands resting defiantly on his hips.

"Come on, Booth," Sweets begins, somehow aware of what's coming, "you know I'm right."

He shoots the psychologist a deathly glare. "_Zip it_, Sweets. The FBI doesn't give a damn about what happens between Bones and me as long as we work well together. This isn't them," he snaps with a grimace, "this is you crossing the freaking line."

"But—"

"Stay out of this!" Booth roars before leaving the office and slamming the door shut.

—&—

_Road trip, anyone? *wink*_


End file.
